


If the Panties Fit...

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Designer Castiel, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Just Add Kittens, M/M, Model Dean, Panties, Panties Kink, Retail Castiel, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, dean loves panties, minor illness (it's a bad cold), motherfucking macy's sale, this fic is literally all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of timestamps about Dean first discovering his love of panties, and Castiel's love of Dean's love of panties. <b>Beware the rating change!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Blessing In Hell

The first item on Castiel Novak's checklist every morning is reminding himself that he hates his fucking job. The economy crashing while he was riding high as a Realtor had pretty much ended his pleasant existence in a 4 bed/3 bath/finished basement elegant Colonial home in suburbs, downgraded to a cramped, 2 bed/1 bath (that only had hot water when it was in the mood) piece of shit condo in the middle of, what he considered to be, the noisiest college town in the country. 

Now he's little more than a small town pariah. It hadn't mattered that Dick Roman had been the _actual_ responsible party for the vast majority of foreclosures in the town once the housing bubble popped. Castiel's name had been on a lot of those mortgage approvals. And Dick hadn't had a _team_ ; he'd had minions. Too bad Castiel hadn't had enough in him to stand up to the man when he could have. When he should have.

That's how he'd ended up at Macy's. Not that retail wasn't an admirable enough job. His beef with the whole ordeal was that, being in a small town, everyone knew him. And most of the employers who'd finally started hiring again after years of struggle, had been victims of Roman. And Dick hadn't stayed to fix a damn thing. He'd cut his losses and run, leaving his minions to deal with the fallout. Castiel, then, had been stuck being laughed out of every interview he'd had until three months ago when the new mall had opened with new managers who didn't know him from Adam, and certainly didn't _care_ so long as he showed up on time, in clean clothes, and ready to work his ass off in the women's department. He has a Master's degree and a reliable car. He was made for retail management.

It's drudgery most days. Open the registers, fix the racks, pull more stock, mark sale items, get yelled at about every last thing that is out of his power. Close the store, make the schedule for next week. Lather, rinse, repeat.

At least it's Friday, and by some miracle, Castiel finds himself with the whole weekend off. Extra bonus that yesterday was the huge Christmas sale, so the store is dead. It looks like a _bomb_ went off in the changing rooms, but at least Castiel has the peace and time to clean it all up. No one had wanted to stay after the store had closed at midnight, and therefore left a disaster to be cleaned up at opening the next day. Castiel was the floor manager for the department, and had let it slide once 1:00 am had rolled around and his feet ached, swollen in his sensible sneakers.

It's still early and the gates have only been up for about fifteen minutes. Castiel's employees are yawning and drinking coffee behind the registers where they shouldn't be while folding shirts and fixing the racks. That leaves him to clear out and organize the items left abandoned in the dressing rooms. He's rarely allowed in the women's fitting rooms per store policy, but there's not a customer in sight and no one else wants to do it. Castiel does. It gives him less chance of having to interact with anyone for at least the next two hours.

He grabs and empty rolling rack and pushes it to the dressing room at the very end of the department. It's small; only has three rooms, and was probably installed as an afterthought when they discovered that another storage closet wasn't necessary. Hardly anyone uses it because it's tucked behind a dividing wall, but it certainly does have an interesting amount of stories to go along with it.

In his short tenure at the store, Castiel has encountered enough horror in all fitting rooms to inspire him to buy first, try on at home, and return later if necessary. He's convinced that if the store's owner approached him and offered him a blank check if he would just try on a pair of jeans in a fitting room of his choice, Castiel would refuse. _That's_ how many awful things he's seen.

The first room only has a small handful of items to return to their hangers and transfer to the rack. The second looks like a dragon had been in there hoarding a mountain of suit jackets. The third is also nearly empty, but for a handful of items actually rehung beside the mirror. Castiel sends up a silent thank you to whoever that beautiful soul of a holiday shopper was. It almost makes him want to believe in unicorns. He grins a little to himself, but the expression is immediately wiped from his face when he hears the door to the middle room click shut firmly. _Shit_.

He quickly drapes the pants and shirts over his arm and tiptoes out of the room, praying the woman doesn't see him and read him the riot act. He slips out with the rolling rack, pushing it just around the corner with a sigh of relief as he sorts the clothes he's collected into their respective zones. He's about to be on his way when a decidedly _male_ voice floats from the fitting room with a muttered, "ah, fuck it," freezing Castiel in place. Why the hell would a man bring his clothes all the way over here to try on? The men's dressing rooms are never crowded. Since their clothes come with mostly consistent sizing that actually makes sense, far fewer of those customers need to try anything on regularly.

Castiel has the wild thought that the man inside might be trying on women's clothes for some reason, and his heartbeat skyrockets. He glances to his right and sees the lingerie department right beside the dividing wall. He bites his bottom lip, remembering why he usually avoids this end of his own department. He's almost positive that his kink is so noisy in his own brain that other people can actually hear it, and he can't get fired from this job yet. He has no savings and no other prospects for the moment.

But no matter how much his palms are sweating, rules are rules. These aren't unisex fitting rooms. Shoulders slumped, Castiel shuffles to the entrance and clears his throat. "Sir? I'm very sorry, but these are the women's fitting rooms. You'll need to leave and try on your purchases in the men's fitting rooms on other side of the escalators."

There's a huge thump from within that makes Castiel jump, followed by a string of impressively creative swearing. Apprehensively, Castiel calls, "sir? Are you okay?"

The door slams open and a tall man shoves past Castiel at a breakneck pace. He has just enough time to register green eyes, beet red cheeks, reddish stubble, and light brown hair before the man is gone around the corner. "Rude," Castiel mutters, turning with a shake of his head.

His veins flood with ice and then lava in two seconds flat. _Panties_. Lots and lots of _panties_. Carefully, like they're snakes about to strike, Castiel reaches out with a shaking hand to pick them up. He doesn't even care that underwear isn't supposed to be opened, unwrapped, or tried on.

 _That extremely attractive man was... Trying. On. Panties._ He might just have a heart attack here and now. It would be a good death, he thinks.

There's quite an impressive array, he notes distantly. Cotton, lace, silk. All different colors, several sizes, various cuts. Castiel takes his time collecting them and carrying them to the register near the fitting room. It seemed like the man had been experimenting for the first time. The fleeting thought makes Castiel both embarrassed and pleased. He's truly sorry he chased him off.

"Castiel? Oh, thank God!"

He swings around guiltily to see Anna, the lingerie department's manager, bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of him, oblivious to his distress. "Can I help you?" he asks politely. He likes Anna. She's funny and smart and should be running the whole store.

"Yes," she breathes. "Can you please watch my register for five minutes? I'm alone until noon and my bladder is about to pop."

Castiel laughs, all of his embarrassment forgotten. "Of course."

She doesn't wait a second longer, sprinting towards the escalators. Castiel strolls through the racks of nightgowns and bras, keeping his eyes firmly set on the register to ignore the more flashy panties on the endcaps. He busies himself sorting a stack of sale signs until a customer appears at the register, plopping down a small mound of packaged underwear. Nothing fancy or frilly, for which Castiel is eternally grateful. Just the everyday wear in bold, solid colors. Boy shorts and bikini cuts. They're still lovely to him, but not enough to make his blood boil when they're so unobtrusively rolled into their plastic packaging. 

He rings them up quickly and tosses them all into one of the store's cream-colored paper bags. "That will be sixty-five dollars and seventy-two cents," he says, glancing up to accept payment.

Oh, no. No. No, no. Dear God, no. _It's him_. He's not blushing anymore. In fact, he looks perfectly calm, like he's buying this underwear for his wife or girlfriend and does it all the time. Castiel has plenty of time to fully appreciate him now as he hands over his credit card. His eyes aren't just green. They're _impossibly_ green with gold flecks towards the center. Long eyelashes. A dusting of freckles. Full, wet lips. He looks like a working man by his casual low slung jeans and flannel shirt.

He must have been mistaken? Maybe he'd been trying on something else and had the panties for his partner. It's a shame enough to settle deep in Castiel's chest. He swipes the card and reads the name, completely on autopilot. _Remember to always address the customers by name!_ the memory of the training video chirps in his head. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester," he says woodenly, handing back the card with the bag and his receipt. 

"Yeah, uh, thanks..." He squints at the name tag. "Castiel."

 _I will give you every penny in my bank account to say my name again._ "Happy Holidays," he says.

"Merry Christmas," Mr. Dean Winchester replies with a small tilt of his lips. 

Dean nods and turns. He raises his arm to drape the bag over his shoulder, and Castiel sees them when his shirt rides up at the movement. A pair of red and green cotton panties. Castiel knows them well. They're seasonal and displayed right at the entrance to the department with other kitschy holiday clothing and pajamas. He sees them every single day. That means Mr. Winchester is _shoplifting panties_. With a further shock, Castiel realizes that he's probably doing it because he'd chased the man out of the dressing room before. He wants to laugh and cry and throw his phone number at him all at once.

"Come back and see us again soon," he says before Dean can walk away. And for the first time, and probably last time for the rest of his life in retail jobs, he completely, totally means it.

Mr. Winchester glances over his shoulder. His small grin is devastating on every level. "I think I can manage that. See ya, Cas."

Everything he's been through in the past months seems hilariously worth it now. Somewhere, somehow he's glad that fate had brought him the worst job he's ever had, because he's positive that Mr. Dean Winchester will be back for more.


	2. Sharp Dressed Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes back for more items. Castiel shows off his excellent customer service skills.

Today, Castiel thinks, is going to be very, very trying. Anna is out on vacation until the second week of the new year, and the end caps in the lingerie department need to be rotated. She can't do it, obviously, and her skeleton crew of employees aren't responsible or trained for setting up displays, so Castiel is in trouble when he wakes on Monday morning, thirty minutes before his alarm is set to go off, to his phone ringing. He picks it up without bothering to check the caller ID. "No," he growls, not caring who he's being rude to.

_"Good morning to you, too, cranky!"_ Anna's voice chirps over the line. Of course it's her. When she pauses to say something to someone on her end, Castiel thinks he can hear the ocean in the background. Fuck her. "I need your help."

Castiel rolls over and the comforter slips down baring his chest to the inordinately cold bedroom. If his heater has shit itself again, he's going to scream. "No, you don't," he mumbles. "I hear waves in the background, which means you're some place warm and relaxing, which means you don't need any help. Happy New Year, I'm hanging up."

She calls back immediately. He doesn't even say hello. _"Okay, you grumpy bastard. I'm going to make your day even more miserable now as payback for hanging up on me."_

"I'm sure you will."

_"Seriously, how have you survived even one month in customer service?"_

"Money's money."

_"Apparently._ Anyway, _I need you to do me a huge favor today and take down all of my New Year's displays and replace them with the Valentine's stuff. Please, you're the only one I trust. Every other manager on the floor today is taking care of their own."_

"So am I," Castiel weakly tries to argue.

_"No, you're not, liar! Gabriel says you finished yours over the weekend like the big overachiever that you are. Please? I'll give you anything. Part of my bonus. Duty free liquor. A night with my husband."_

Castiel's groan turns into a rough laugh. "All right, you drive a hard bargain. Bring me back a souvenir."

_"Thank you, Castiel. You are an angel amongst men."_

"Yes, I've been told." He gets the finer details about the display from Anna and hangs up again. He checks the clock on his phone and only has ten minutes before he has to be up, so he turns off the alarm and slides out of bed, walking quickly to the bathroom in the frigid apartment air. He takes his time with the shower; sometimes it's the best part of his day. Then he dresses carefully in one of his dark blue work suits, hastily ties his tie, and is out the door, coffee in hand, right on time.

Morning person or not, this part of his day is the least horrible. Castiel schedules himself opening shifts as often as possible because it gives him a couple of hours to get his work done without a single soul to bother him. He raises his travel mug in a wave to the security guard as he makes his way into the darkened store and walks up the escalator to the women's department. He goes straight to the stock room, keying in the entry code and hangs his trench coat over the back of the rickety metal chair in front of his desk. There's not a lot of prep this morning, but he does need to complete the next week's schedule. That part he'll leave until the store is open and he needs an excuse to escape into the quiet for a while. Instead, he hauls down the rest of the boxes for the Valentine's display to put on the finishing touches before tackling Anna's.

It only takes an hour before he's greeting his opening staff and letting them know where to find him if they need him. Then he's stepping into lingerie's stock room, and it's a whole different world. If he was keen on acting like a complete pervert, he'd think that this was his little version of Heaven. He can't help it, really. The Valentine's products are a little _too_ flashy and obvious for his tastes, but they're still nice. All in shades of red, pink, and white. Lace everywhere, but also several offerings that are pricey silk. Robes, slips, bras, panties in every cut, even regular pajama pants and tops. Castiel smiles and allows himself to run his fingers over one of the bright red pajama tops. It's smooth and cold against his skin. It's the best feeling in the world. 

Everything goes out to the floor on a rolling rack with shelves where he carefully dismantles the former display with its silvers and blues to be replaced with reds and pinks. He actually discovers that he enjoys the decorating process, as corny as it is. The security guards open the gates while Castiel is busy hanging cardboard hearts from ceiling hooks. There's no morning rush today - never is on a Monday, so Castiel takes his time returning the ladder to the stock room and then going back to the floor to put the lingerie out on display.

He allows himself the luxury of placing the items on the table and risers as slowly as possible. Gradually, he begins to smile, which is rare for him these days. He finishes with one side of the display and puts the overstock back onto the rack's shelf. And as he stands back up straight, he realizes with a start that he's had an audience. Green eyes, flannel shirt, bowlegs... the face is almost familiar in the sea of customers he sees every single day... low-slung worn jeans, _the man with the stolen Santa panties._

"Oh," Castiel says before thinking, "it's you." 

The man startles visibly, seeing that Castiel has caught him staring. There's no one else around. "Jesus," the guy says, whipping around on his heel to beat a hasty retreat.

_Oh, no, don't-!_ "I saw what you wore last time!" Castiel calls out suddenly, much more loudly than intended, but luckily no one else is close enough to hear. The man stops dead. Castiel cringes. Softer, he says, "it's not... I mean... I think I can help you. With... sizing and things. You spent too much money last time. It's a waste since you can't return undergarments."

He watches as the man's shoulders slump and tense. His hands clenching and unclenching, and Castiel feels terrible about it. He honestly hadn't meant to embarrass him so much. He had to do something to explain ... _what was his name? Westchester? Westminster? Wind... WINCHESTER!_ He mentally pats himself on the back, and says, "I'd really like to help you, Mr. Winchester."

Mr. Winchester swings around like he's been hit, gaping at Castiel. "How did you remember my...?" His neck is flushed deep red, eyes wide and skittish. But he's not running away.

"I'm really good with names," Castiel lies blatantly. It took him a month and a half to remember Anna's name, and she wore a _name tag_. "I'm Castiel Novak." He holds out his hand and waits.

Mr. Winchester gives a furtive glance around and then shuffles forward to take his hand like he's making a damn covert drug deal. But his palm is warm and callused where it slides against Castiel's, and it's better than the most expensive silk. "Dean Winchester," he answers.

Castiel inclines his head towards the display and Dean follows slowly. "Just talk to me like you're buying something for your girlfriend," he advises. "Would you appreciate something this flashy, or shall I take you to the more demure options?"

He's so proper and formal about it that he gets the desired reaction. Dean's face lights with surprised amusement and he barks a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't even know, man. To tell you the truth, it's a recent... thing for me." His fingers trail over the sleeve of the red pajamas hanging from the mannequin. "It just... feels good. I don't even know why."

"Because it's the pinnacle of beauty, don't you think?" Castiel says quietly, reverently.

"How d'you mean?" Dean asks doubtfully.

"Everything about lingerie is beautiful. When you touch it, it feels beautiful. When you see it, even on the hanger, it looks beautiful. When it's being worn, it enhances outer beauty. And when you're the one wearing it... well, it makes _you_ feel beautiful, too." He smiles wistfully and puts down the silky boyshorts he'd been holding. "There's nothing quite like it. I don't think there's anything in the whole world that's made to enhance all forms of beauty like lingerie is."

He looks up then to find Dean watching him with an unreadable expression. It should embarrass him, but it doesn't, because in Dean's face, he's starting to see a bit of an awakening. "The best part of it is," Castiel finishes, "is that it doesn't have to be for anyone else but you. Lots of people may say that lingerie is meant to be showed off." He gestures to a particularly strappy garter and panty combo. "But, that's not always true. It's made just for _you_. Even if no one ever sees it, that's not the point. The point is that wearing it makes you feel good. Strong. Sexy. Confident. Comfortable. Anything."

"Do you also...?" Dean's voice trails off, unsure of the protocol for these sorts of questions.

"No," Castiel smiles warmly, "but I think it's wonderful all the same."

They're silent for a minute, and Dean's attention gravitates towards a rack of everyday wear behind the Valentine's display. Castiel follows him over to it. The options are similar to some of the panties that Dean had picked the last time he was there, but slightly more bold. The boyshorts he tentatively reaches for are satin instead of cotton. Castiel eyes the man's hips and ass critically for a moment and then wordlessly takes the pair Dean is holding and replaces it with, what he hopes, is a more appropriate size. It's a bit of a struggle for him not to study the swagger of his Dean's hips as he walks or imagine him wearing the items, but even in the most trying of circumstances, Castiel remains professional. Silently they continue wandering through the department at a leisurely pace, doing the same song and dance. By the end of the tour, Dean has four new sets of boyshorts, three bikini briefs, all in satin or silk, and Castiel's personal favorite, a four-pack of jersey-knit boyshorts in plaid designs that he's sure match several of Dean's flannel shirts.

Castiel holds out his hands and Dean relinquishes the clothing to him. With a private smile, he says, "I'll ring these up for you."

Once the transaction is complete, Dean lingers for a moment by the register, seemingly with something he's struggling to say. Throwing a hail Mary pass, Castiel flips the receipt over and writes his phone number down. He shoves it at Dean with the shopping bag, ears burning. He can't look at the taller man directly when he says, "I'd like to hear from you again. Or... if you need shopping tips... I'll... I'm... I'd like to see you again."

Dean folds the receipt carefully and slips it into his back pocket. "Hey, Cas I really-" he shakes his head, drawing back the extra things he wants to say. "I'll call you," he says instead, and that's good enough to keep Castiel smiling for the rest of the day.

As he's pulling on his trench coat at the end of his shift, reminding his staff about the rest of their closing jobs, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket. An unlisted number has texted him, _I'm off Fri. Dinner?_

Grinning wider than he can remember in months, Castiel types back, _of course, Dean. I'm off work at 7. Meet me by the east entrance?_

_Perfect. :)_

Castiel tucks his phone back in his pocket, once again, thanking all the deities above. Only this time, for Anna's winter vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's possessing me to write more of this, but I love it.


	3. First Dates and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have their first date. Everyone but them makes a big deal about it.

Castiel feels like he's in high school again. That's how nervous he is for his first date. It takes him so long in the morning before work to pick out his clothing for the day that he's actually late to start his shift. He's never been late by even a second before. When he shuffles off of the escalator and passes the main register in his department, muttering a guilty, "sorry I'm late," to his two employees opening with him, all that they can do is stare at him with mouths agape. 

He's closing in on the stockroom when Gabriel sidetracks him. "Castiel Novak? _Late_?" he says with melodramatic shock.

"Gabriel Milton? On _time_?" he returns.

The man laughs as though Castiel is an amazing comedian. "I'd congratulate you on a night of debauchery or getting laid, but you're looking constipated as usual, so I'm assuming it was something as mundane as traffic, which saddens me."

"Nothing saddens you," Castiel returns dryly, opening the door, not surprised that Gabriel follows him in. He transfers his coat to a hanger and turns on the ancient computer on the desk. Gabriel leans his hip against the shelf holding a large supply of dress shirts and unwraps a Tootsie Pop. 

"True," he says. "But there's something... different about you today. Is your tie straighter than usual?"

Castiel self-consciously reaches up to adjust it. "Perhaps."

His tone is mild, but Gabriel latches on with the tenacity of a snapping turtle. "Well, well, Casablanca, there _is_ a not-boring reason for your tardiness. Tell me what it is or I'll find excuses to bother you about it for the rest of the day. Don't think I won't."

"I already know you won't," Castiel answers, sitting down at the desk and pulling up the scheduling program. "It's nothing interesting. I have a date tonight. Wanted to make sure I was dressed appropriately since I won't have time to change later."

He can practically _feel_ Gabriel's shit-eating grin behind him and mentally braces himself for the deluge of teasing. It doesn't come and tentatively, Castiel turns in his chair. Gabriel isn't even paying attention to him. He's typing away rapidly on his phone, grinning.

"Did you hear me?" Castiel asks with trepidation.

"I did, dollface. Now, shut up. I'm busy."

"Why aren't you making a bigger deal of this?"

"I will when I'm done telling Anna. She's pissed, by the way. Wants to know why you didn't wait until she was back in town."

Castiel makes a noise of disgust, fastens his nametag to his lapel, and wordlessly leaves Gabriel to his own devices in the stockroom. 

Naturally, Castiel's morning is an excellent precursor to the rest of the day. Social butterfly that he is, Gabriel has told, texted, and called everyone they know in the store. By his lunch break, Castiel Novak's love life is the hottest topic in town. Balthazar stops by from the men's formal wear to frown and tut at his choice of wardrobe, offering to find him a nicer suit. Gabriel is of no help, being the manager of the Junior's department, though a stack of stylishly faded jeans and casual button downs mysteriously appears in Castiel's stock room later. The whole thing grates on every last one of Castiel's nerves, but he holds himself together until finally, he can clock out with a larger sigh of relief than normal and escape his well-meaning coworkers. He doesn't make it to the east entrance without Hannah practically diving over the fragrance counter to spritz him with something, however.

He's so frazzled as he pushes open the gleaming metal and glass doors, that his first instinct is to frown at Dean, who's parked in the drop off lane looking absolutely perfect in dark jeans, black t-shirt, and dark red button down. And he's leaning against... well, frankly, the sexiest car Castiel has ever seen. "This is your car?" he says as he approaches.

Apparently that was the right question because Dean beams with pride and steps aside to open the passenger door. "Best car I've ever had," he answers proudly. "I restored her myself. '67 Chevy Impala."

Castiel's mood immediately lightens at Dean's enthusiasm as he slips past him into the car.

Dean's back a moment later, buckling in and gunning the engine. He sniffs. "You smell really good today," he says absently as he navigates the large parking lot.

Startled, Castiel makes a mental note to ask Hannah what she doused him at some point. "Thank you," he says.

Glancing at him with the same grin, Dean says, "you looked kinda out of it when you first showed up. Hard day?"

"You could say that," he answers, feeling his neck heat. "Truthfully, I made the mistake of telling one of my coworkers that I had a date, and suddenly I was the most interesting person in the world."

Dean laughs and it's a sound that winds itself into Castiel deeply. "Why? Is it uncharacteristic of you?"

"Yes," Castiel admits.

Dean's head whips around to stare at him for a beat at the red light. "Seriously? You don't date? I can't believe that, man."

"I haven't been on a real date in two years."

Dean whistles low. "That's impossible! No freaking way. Why not?"

Instead of answering directly, Castiel asks, "why is that so hard to believe?"

Dean gives him a strange, incredulous look, then turns back to the road as the light changes. "'Cause you're not only the hottest guy I've seen around here in ages, but you're also the nicest. Who else would have done what you did before? Going out with you is practically winning the lottery."

Castiel knows he's flushed under those words, even though Dean really has no cause to say them. They've only met twice, and he has no idea what Castiel is actually like on a date or in a relationship. Castiel knows he's dour and out of touch. But for now, he refuses to disavow Dean Winchester of any good opinions he has. The silence, though slightly embarrassed for the both of them, isn't uncomfortable. Dean takes them to a dive near the highway that Castiel has driven past many times, but never stopped at before. It looks like one of those places that could either be the best local food you've ever had, or the worst, and the only safe way to find out would be from the recommendation of a friend. "I've never been here before," he says.

"It's awesome," Dean assures him, pulling into a parking space in the gravel lot. "Might look like your typical bar, but it's got the best burgers in the whole damn country. Unless you're a vegetarian, or something. If so, I've made a horrible mistake."

Grinning as they get out of the car, Castiel says, "Burgers are my favorite."

The inside of the bar is all paneled dark wood and low lighting. There are pool tables in the back, set away from the booths and tables, along with a full bar and TVs set to low volume scattered around. Even the country music playing out of the honest-to-God jukebox in the corner is pleasant. Dean greets the woman serving drinks and she inclines her head for them to seat themselves. He guides them towards the back into a high-walled booth. When handing him a menu, Dean says, "I know the owner of this place. Been coming here for years. Worked here too, off and on."

Castiel glances over the menu and zeroes in on the hamburgers. For a place that bills itself as a bar, it has a lot of options that all seem equally appetizing. 

Without even asking, a blonde server comes to their table and sets down two chilled glasses of beer. "On the house," she says with a glint in her eyes.

"Jo," Dean says with a dose of warning in his tone.

But that only makes the girl grin wider and ignore him. "I already know what you want, but if you need another minute for your friend to decide?" She leans her hip on the side of the booth next to Dean, giving Castiel a blatant once-over.

Throwing caution to the wind, Castiel smiles his most winning smile and says, "I'll have whatever burger is your favorite. Medium, please."

"Man after my own heart," she says breezily. "Holler if you need anything."

Castiel is still smiling as she walks away, and it amuses him to see Dean following her with his eyes, clearly disgruntled. "That's Jo. I've known her since we were kids. She's too nosy."

Castiel laughs and picks up his beer. "Most families are."

Dean is surprised by his snap assessment, but his face eases into an indulgent look as he raises his glass as well. "Damn straight." He taps their beers together and they both drink deeply. 

It's surprising to Castiel how easily they fall into conversation without many awkward pauses. He's never been able to call himself a "people person," but it's clear that he's honed his ability for small talk over the years. As their second beers arrive, he's smiling more than he can remember and Dean has his elbows on the table, leaning towards him, his attention never wavering.

"So, what do you do, if I'm allowed to ask a cliche question?" Castiel asks. "I'm assuming you don't work here anymore."

"Any cliche is fair game on a first date. And you're right, I don't," Dean answers, taking another sip of his beer. Castiel watches the man's adam's apple bob with fascination. Then his eyes are drawn back up when Dean says, "I'm actually a sort of part time mechanic right now. Family friend named Bobby owns a salvage yard. I give him a hand whenever he needs it. Which, truth be told, is a lot more often these days. But I'm actually a retired model."

Castiel believes it. Oh, does he _ever_ believe it. He can't stop the wide grin that slowly crawls across his face. "Oh," he says, sounding slightly choked.

Dean's brilliant green eyes narrow. "You're not about to make fun of me, are you?"

"Quite the opposite," Castiel answers, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up in his hand. "I can't believe my good fortune being on a date with a _model_. I must have been born under a lucky star."

His tone is so matter-of-fact, that Dean gives him even more of a suspicious look. They haven't known each other long enough for him to be aware of Castiel's chronic dry humor, but he seems game enough to take it for what it is. His answering flirty smile is all perfect white teeth. "Yeah, I'd say you were. What about you, Cas? You always been in retail?"

Castiel leans back with a grimace. "No," he says shortly. "I've only fallen into that particular pit of Hell recently." Dean's look is sympathetic, without a single ounce of judgement, so Castiel decides to plow on. "I studied fashion design and interior design in college. When I graduated, I more readily found work as an interior designer, so I took it. I loved it. Then, that grew into selling houses. Unfortunately, I put my trust in the wrong group. Dick Roman came to town as the Second Coming in the housing market, and then it crashed. After that..." he waves his hand vaguely. "My bank account dried up, and then my savings, and then my house was foreclosed on just like everyone else's, and I needed _something_. But you know how people are and how they talk. No one wanted to hire me, so I applied to everything until the mall opened. And now, here I am. A floor manager for the women's department."

"You hate it," Dean says simply.

"I hate it," Castiel agrees with a laugh. "I really, _really_ hate it." He pauses and jabs his finger forward pointedly. "I'm not saying that there are jobs that aren't worth doing. I admire my coworkers like Anna and Gabriel. They genuinely enjoy their work. But, I..."

Dean's eyes soften and Castiel can barely take the look being half-sober, so he downs the rest of his beer. "It's hard to lose the things we love," Dean says softly, and Castiel has the distinct impression that there's a lot there that's completely inappropriate for a first date. 

So instead of asking the obvious questions, Castiel says, "I was selfish and short-sighted and paid the price. The money was too good, so I ignored everything else that wasn't right with how I sold houses. I don't think I'm too old to learn and start again, but I'm awfully tired."

Dean chuckles a little at that, right as their burgers arrive, loaded and still steaming. "You just need time to get your head back in the game. Trust me, I understand that." He finishes putting ketchup and mustard on his burger and glances up at Castiel again. His eyes are bright with sincerity. "You seem like the kind of guy who can make diamonds out of shit if they try, Cas. You can do that. When you're ready."

Castiel beams at him, hope and gratitude swelling in his chest. What was that saying Anna always liked? _When God closes a door He opens a window_. Dean was currently standing right outside of his. And it felt wonderful. The first color in months of gray. 

The burgers are fantastic. The company is even better, and for the first time in his life, Castiel has genuinely lost track of the time. When Jo brings their check; Dean swiping it away before Castiel even has the chance to glance at it, he realizes that they've been there for nearly three hours. He feels a fairly profound loneliness when Dean gets them back to the mall, now devoid of most cars, and parks next to Castiel's unassuming Honda. And as the former model - _model, Castiel!_ \- follows him around to the driver's side of his car, Castiel has the distinct desire to kiss the man and never come up for air again. But that's not how first dates should go. He knows it, even if he hates it as much as his current job.

Dean sidles up in front of him and catches the cuff of Castiel's coat gently between his fingers. "This flasher coat is really ugly."

Castiel frowns and tucks his finger into Dean's belt loop, just as gently drawing him forward a step. He blinks down for a second as his movement tugs Dean's jeans away from his hips. "So are those boxers."

Dean's laugh cracks sudden and loud. It shakes his entire upper body as he stumbles forward a little more, right into Castiel's chest. He tucks his chin against the shorter man's neck as he chuckles himself out, then rubs the tears of laughter out of his eyes on Castiel's coat. His arms snake around between the layers, hands against his back, solid and extra warm in the cold night air.

Castiel doesn't even want Dean to kiss him anymore. He just wants to breathe in the heady scent of leather and cinnamon aftershave as long as he can. And Dean doesn't kiss him. They stand together in a tight, blissful embrace for however many minutes it takes for Dean to shiver when a particularly arctic gust of wind hits them.

He pulls back and takes Castiel's hands in his. "I had an awesome time tonight. Tell me you're off tomorrow."

"I can't because I'm not," Castiel answers with real regret. "My next day off isn't until Wednesday, and then again on Friday."

"A whole week? You're killing me, Cas." He smiles anyway. "I'm traveling on Tuesday until Friday morning. Seems like forever now."

"I'll make it up to you," he promises.

Dean shakes his head with a lingering look. "I'm looking forward to it." He pulls away reluctantly, holding onto Castiel's freezing fingers until the last possible second as he back steps to the Impala. Castiel doesn't move until the tail lights are out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was so much fluff.


	4. ... Wear Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets a cold rather than another date with Dean.

Castiel misses Dean while he's out of town. They text at night while Castiel goes through his bedtime routine, and Dean's always apologetic that they can't talk longer while he's away.

But it's fine. He's thinking about Castiel and that's plenty. It's wonderful. It only makes him more excited for Friday. 

Two of Castiel's employees call out of work on the same day. He allows them to because honestly, he doesn't really care. They say they're sick with nasty chest colds, but he thinks it's awfully convenient on a Saturday with two people he's fairly certain are dating. They don't need to lie. But he shrugs it off and wishes them well. 

Then Gabriel starts sneezing and sucking on lemon throat drops.

Anna, tanned and beatific after her "second honeymoon," calls Castiel in on his Wednesday off to cover for her because she's running a fever. 

On Thursday morning, Castiel wakes up coughing with a grimace. It's not even Spring yet and his allergies are kicking in? Certainly he hadn't caught that cold. He'd been diligent about washing his hands and giving everyone else a wide berth. During his first fifteen minute break at work, his sinuses feel like they're swollen enough to explode. At lunch, he can't taste his caesar salad in the slightest and he has to down Advil with his soda because the headache is killing him. His second fifteen minute break is even worse. He drags ass to the stock room and lays his head down on the desk for a small nap. He can see his heartbeat throbbing behind his closed eyes in vicious red and black. By the end of the day, he wonders how he actually made it home.

His cell phone rings Friday mid-morning as he's opening a second box of tissues, nose red and raw, overnight coughing having made his voice completely useless. Weakly he grabs for the phone and answers with a croaked, "hello?" 

"Cas? Is... are you okay?" Dean's voice sounds so far away.

He's about to answer, but sneezing ambushes him and it's nearly a full minute before he can recover enough to say, "fine."

"You sound like shit."

"Then that's fortuitous since I feel like shit." He downs the maximum dose of nighttime cold medicine. Maybe it'll put him in a coma long enough to recover.

There's a pause. Castiel checks his phone to make sure the call hasn't disconnected. "Guess we'll have to reschedule our date, huh?"

Even through his fevered, drugged haze, Castiel can hear Dean's disappointment. "I'm very sorry," he rasps. "I was going to call you later."

"It's fine," Dean answers with false lightness. "I'm not home yet, anyway. But, seriously, man, are you really okay? Is there... I dunno... anything I can bring you?"

Castiel chuckles at the first response that arrives in his head. The illness has made him quite cloudy and woozy. The laugh turns into another fit of coughing. "I'd like chicken soup, sourdough rolls, ginger tea, and you in those red and black sexy boyshorts you bought before." He hadn't really meant to say that.

Dean laughs brightly. "Jesus, Cas, don't try to seduce me while you're busy trying to keep your lungs from making a bid for freedom. I kind of actually like your voice that rough, though. Are you drunk?"

"Hardly," Castiel tries to scoff, but really just slurs. "The medicine has practically no alcohol in it. It's the fever." He can hear a distant announcement in the background and then scratching like Dean is shifting his phone around. "Where are you?"

"Airport," Dean answers grimly. "I fucking hate flying, but them's the breaks. It was too far to drive to the trade show. I'll be back in a few hours. Seriously, Cas, I gotta hang up, but is there anything I can do?"

"No," Castiel smiles, warm from Dean's concern. "Thank you, but I'll recover in a few days with enough rest. Can I call you then?"

"You can call me whenever," Dean insists. "I like talking to you. Text me. Email me. I don't care. I won't be leaving town again for awhile, so it shouldn't be difficult to get a hold of me."

"Thank you. Safe flight, Dean."

"Fat chance," he mutters. Then louder says, "I'll call and check on you if I land."

"When you land."

"Big 'if' on the landing."

Castiel hangs up the phone with a smile, then has another hearty sneezing fit, then another coughing fit. Once it's done he's winded, his eyes are watering. He drags himself out of the bed to dispose of the tissues that have accumulated around him. Then he shuffles to the bathroom to refill the humidifier and wet a hot washcloth. Back in bed, he turns on daytime cartoons just for some company and noise, and lays the washcloth over his face to clear his congestion. He's dead asleep fifteen minutes later.

xXx

He might have been lying when he told Dean he was fine. He's not. He might actually be dying in this miserable existence. In actuality, Castiel hasn't been properly sick in years. His body doesn't know what to do with it besides make him twice as run down as a cold should. He contemplates calling his doctor, but it's no use. He can't drive himself anywhere. He needs more rest. He's thirsty. A little hungry. But sleep. Sleep is so much better.

He wakes up again at twilight to banging on his apartment door. He doesn't want to get out of bed to answer it, and can't fathom who it could be. Had he called someone? Texted someone? It's so hazy, he really can't remember. He digs for his cell phone, which has ended up under his pillow after recruiting a dozen used tissues to its nest. The battery is almost dead, but it has enough juice left to allow him to flip through his messages. He has to blink several times to focus, but then he's out of bed like a shot with a hoarse muttering of, "oh, no. Shit. Damn it all. No, no, no!" And he flings the front door open.

Dean Winchester is a fucking vision in a worn leather jacket. Goddamn former models. He's grinning fit enough to charm the pants off of anyone, and... _shit_ Castiel's not even _wearing_ pants. He's down to nothing but his boxers and an undershirt, shivering in the cold. He may be sick, but he doesn't miss the way that Dean's green eyes flick down to give him a once over.

"You really do look like hell," Dean says instead of 'hello,' because he has to have _some_ flaw. Might as well be his manners.

Castiel sneezes.

"I brought battle supplies." He holds aloft a plastic bag. "Meds, tissues, homemade soup, not homemade sourdough rolls, ginger tea, orange juice, and me. Most importantly, me."

Castiel can only stand there blinking stupidly.

Dean jiggles the the bag enticingly and Castiel finally steps out of the way. "Get back in bed, I'll reheat the soup."

"I don't want you to get sick, too. I'm so sorry about the texts. I don't even remember sending half of them."

"No need to apologize, but the next time you're medicated into oblivion, remember your own damn apartment number so I don't have to knock on five other doors to find you. Anyway, it's just a cold," Dean says cheerfully as he puts the bag on the counter and pulls out the contents. "I'm sure I'll live if you take me down with you. If I'd stayed home I would have only sat around worrying. I'm a worrier."

Castiel coughs into one of the tissues out of the new box. Ah, Dean bought the ones with menthol and lotion in them. He's a fine man. He should stay forever. "You sound like my grandmother," he mutters.

Dean straightens up and turns from where he's digging around the lower cabinets for a pot and gives Castiel an exaggerated glare. "You're sick, so I forgive you for that slight. I have a big heart like that. Now get your surly ass back in bed. I'll bring the soup in a minute."

Castiel sneezes again, but does as he's told. Dean's so wonderful. He crawls into bed and continues feeling tragic, though less so now that he can hear the other man banging around in the kitchen while singing in a lovely, gravely voice. The domesticity comforts him greatly.

Ten minutes later, Dean appears in the bedroom. Well, first a bottle of Lysol appears and sprays a generous amount around. Then Dean appears, disinfectant in his left hand, tray with soup, rolls, orange juice, and tea in the right. Castiel cracks his gummy eyes open and smiles blearily. "I didn't dream the indignity of answering the door in my underwear," he muses.

Dean chuckles as he sprays down the nightstand before setting the tray on top of it. "Cheer up. I've seen you at your worst now, so it can only go uphill from here."

"Good point," Castiel says, struggling to push himself up against the pillows.

"Can you get out of bed to eat?" Dean asks, eyeing the computer desk against the window.

"Yes," Castiel answers, coughing again. "Why?"

"Wanna wash your sheets. It's muggy in here."

"Humidifier," Castiel says, slipping from the bed again. He collapses onto the desk chair with a light moan. Dean brings the tray over, sliding it in front of Castiel. Dean smells good. Leather and soap and fresh air. "You really don't have to wash my sheets and everything. I know I'm sick, but I can take care of the basics by myself."

"I know you can," Dean argues, touching the back of Castiel's neck. It elicits a full body shudder that he plays off as another coughing fit. Dean pats his back gently. "I want to do this for you. You've already done so much for me."

Castiel smiles and chugs the small glass of juice in one go. "I believe this relationship is mutually beneficial."

"Eat your soup," Dean says as he moves away to gather the sheets. He sounds embarrassed. 

Castiel eats his soup. Dean washes the laundry and then his hands and then remakes the bed while Castiel watches, heart clenching, sipping his tea. Then the taller man gestures for him to get back into bed, and he does with a pleased sigh at the crisp, cool sheets. "You're amazing, Dean," he wheezes.

"I know," Dean answers. He wavers by the bed for several seconds, and Castiel can almost hear the moment he thinks, _fuck this_. He kicks off his shoes, socks, and removes his jacket. Then he clambers into the bed next to Castiel, pushing a pillow up against the headboard and relaxing on top of the sheets. "Can I watch TV?"

Castiel rolls onto his side, facing Dean. "You can as long as it's not something stupid."

Dean laughs and it's a full-bodied, happy sound. "Have a little faith, man." He puts on an _Indiana Jones_ marathon on network TV and Castiel falls for him just a little bit more. Then he falls asleep.

xXx

When he wakes up, Castiel's sure he's still having some fevered dream. Dean's still there, and that's surreal enough. It must be late because the TV is airing an infomercial. Castiel struggles to sit up. He turns off the TV and the sudden plunge into darkness makes Dean snuffle in his sleep. He wiggles onto his side facing Castiel and hugs his pillow tighter.

Castiel turns on the small lamp next to the bed, rubbing his eyes. There's a glass of water with a sticky note attached to it. Castiel picks it up. _More Advil. Cold medicine._ He takes the medicine with the whole glass of water that is still cold and feels amazing on his parched throat. His eyes shift back to Dean's sleeping form, and he blames the cold medicine and fever as he reaches down and cards his fingers through the man's short hair. It's soft. Of course it's soft now that the product has been rubbed out in his sleep.

Green eyes blink open and Dean smiles lazily in a comfortable, sleepy way. "Hey," he murmurs. His voice is as warm as a heated blanket and despite his illness, Castiel's body jolts with desire.

"You should get out of your clothes and under the covers," he says.

Dean chuckles, broken by a yawn. "It's only the second date," he teases. "I'm not that kind of boy."

Castiel tries to laugh and it's more of a cough. "I meant you'd be more comfortable if you intend to spend the night. Which... of course... you can, if you want. It's already after midnight... so... it-it's fine."

Dean pushes up to a sitting position. "I can go if it makes you uncomfortable. I really didn't mean to fall asleep, but your mattress is really comfortable."

Castiel reaches out wordlessly. He slips his fingers beneath Dean's unbuttoned flannel shirt and pushes it off his shoulders. Dean doesn't even move, allowing Castiel's hands to skim down his sides as the shirt comes off. "Are you really not worried about catching my cold?" He pretends he sounds so breathless because of his aching lungs.

"No," Dean answers simply. "I'd rather be here helping you out. If that's okay."

Castiel pats Dean's knee and he stretches out so Castiel can pull off his socks. "No one's ever... even my parents... and only my grandmother a little bit... I've never had this sort of help before."

Dean leans forward, ducks his head down to catch Castiel's eye. "You deserve it. I want to help."

"Thank you," Castiel sniffles. Then he's using his full attention to look elsewhere and not stare as Dean unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. But... _I can't handle this with a fever_ , his brain cries a minute later. It's the black and red boyshorts. They look _amazing_ on Dean's lean hips and muscled thighs. It overpowers everything until Castiel can feel his brain short circuiting. 

He surges forward and kisses Dean so hard and messy that they topple back onto the mattress. When he pulls back suddenly, his look of horror is the perfect counterpoint to Dean's full grin. He scrambles up, horrified while also loving every bit of skin he touches on his way. 

"I wasn't expecting that," Dean says.

"I'm sorry!" Castiel slaps a hand over his tingling lips. "I shouldn't have-"

"You should have," Dean counters, taking Castiel's hands in his own. "You really, _really_ should have."

Their lips are touching again, but softer. Softer. Closed mouths. Just enough to experience the texture. Dean's lips are warm and full. He sighs through his nose. Castiel tries not to sneeze because he will _kill himself_ if he ruins the moment like that. He doesn't, but Dean breaks the embrace right in time for Castiel to cough again. "The living room couch... it's a pull-out," Castiel murmurs.

Dean takes his time tucking Castiel back into bed. "I'll see you in the morning," he whispers.

xXx

Dean is beautiful in so many ways, but not when he sleeps. Castiel finds Dean in a tangle of covers on the couch taking up every inch of space. He's sprawled on his back, limbs everywhere. And he's snoring. Castiel smiles. Can't resist poking him on the nose. Dean snorts and Castiel laughs outright. Then it's more coughing that actually wakes the other man up.

Dean shoots up in the bed when Castiel doubles over, warm hand splaying over his back. "Hey, you okay?"

Castiel nods several times since he can't speak just yet. He recovers a minute later, wiping the corners of his eyes with his thumb. "I sound worse than I feel, actually," he gasps.

The hand on his back moves to his forehead. "No fever," he says. "That's good news. Are you hungry?"

"Not yet, but I'm thirsty. I usually don't eat breakfast until later, anyway."

Dean pulls back the covers and stands up. "I'll get you some water. And juice."

Castiel watches in wonder when Dean scratches his belly under his shirt with a yawn, hair sticking up everywhere. It's fantastic. The shell shock doesn't fully dissipate as Dean returns with two glasses, holding them out like trophies for a job well done. Castiel takes them silently. He doesn't really know what to do with a smile that's brighter than the sun when it's aimed right at him.

"Good morning," Dean says.

"'Morning," Castiel answers automatically. He drinks the juice. Before he starts on the ice water, Dean leans forward and kisses him. Castiel thinks that he truly has died and gone to Heaven. "What was that for?" he murmurs.

Dean shrugs. "'Cause you looked like you needed it. TLC is the best medicine, after all."

"I'm going to fall for you," Castiel says seriously. "Hard."

"S'okay," Dean returns immediately. "I'm pretty good at catching." He disappears back into the bedroom and returns with his clothes. He dumps them on the pull-out and redresses piece by piece. "Go take a shower and put on some fresh clothes; you'll feel better. I'm gonna go get us some doughnuts and bagels because all you've got are corn flakes and I can't stand for that." He leaves Castiel gawping like a goldfish.

All he can do in the silence left behind is to follow the last words that filled it. He showers and puts on a pair of ratty blue pajamas as he waits for Dean to return. By the time he's refolded the couch and curled up on it, coffee brewing and the morning news on, he's _positive_ , beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he actually _was_ born under an incredibly lucky star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a cold so Castiel does, too. I'm mean that way.


	5. Hand Wash Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware the rating change, matey's! There be all the gay sex in this here chapter!

They've been dating for a month. And for that whole month, Castiel felt that Dean had been perfect. He's a gentleman, has a wonderful dry/ridiculous sense of humor, is sexy as hell, thoughtful, flirty. Everything. But now? Today? Tonight? Castiel feels that he was so, _so_ wrong. He cannot abide this.

"No," he says to the former model standing in his doorway. At least, he _assumes_ that Dean's there. Somewhere. He can't actually see him at the moment because instead of Dean, there are a dozen helium balloons, roses, at least three boxes of chocolates, a huge stuffed teddy bear, and a card that's almost as tall as he is blocking his doorway like the most cheerful fire hazard.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Dean chirps from the abyss.

"No," Castiel repeats.

"You're not allowed to be grumpy on holidays," Dean says.

"You obviously don't know me, and this isn't a real holiday," Castiel answers. The balloons and chocolates shove forward and he has to move backwards equally or else be suffocated, and he's not going to die that way. Not surrounded by this many disgusting shades of pink.

Dean's face finally appears and he looks like a kid in a toy store. "You're lucky you're so hot because your personality sucks when someone else is trying to have fun."

The words don't even sting, and Castiel wonders why. He knows that Dean at least _sort of_ means them, because he's called Castiel a killjoy dozens of times by now. He's not wrong, either. Their fourth date had consisted of hours of Dean bemoaning Castiel being "one of those people" who couldn't deal with Hollywood logic. They'd gone to see _Star Wars_ , and Castiel had kept muttering "how is that even _possible_?" He hadn't meant for Dean to hear him all the time, and certainly hadn't enjoyed the film any less. He was simply highly opinionated about light saber physics. 

And Dean's not the first significant other who's noted Castiel's excessively serious personality. But he _is_ the first significant other to treat it like a gift. It's strange. Dean is strange. He likes to call Castiel two minutes before his alarm goes off in the morning just to wake him up and hear him bitch about it. And turning his phone on silent hadn't worked, either. That day he'd woken up to a dozen pictures of that weird grumpy cat in his text messages. Dean enjoys purposefully renting movies he knows that Castiel will pick apart endlessly, leaving his socks on the floor, not flossing at least once a day.

His favorite thing, however, appears to be making sure that Castiel hates "retail holidays" even more than he already does. He clearly remembers telling Dean not to, "get any big ideas about Valentine's Day. I hate it."

So, naturally, here he is with a whole floral department's worth of shit that Castiel is already itching to throw away. Dean lets go of the balloons and they all float up lazily to the ceiling. He puts the rest of the haul on the kitchen table. Castiel sighs. 

"Are you angry?" Dean asks, tugging down his godawful bright red sweater where it has ridden up over his white button down.

"I'm resigned," Castiel answers, glaring at the teddy bear.

"But the chocolates are imported."

"What on Earth am I going to do with a three foot stuffed animal?"

"You had to know that it was going to be this way."

Castiel steps towards Dean now that he's laid down his burdens. "Why do you enjoy irritating me so much?"

Dean reaches out and pulls Castiel the rest of the way into his orbit. "Because you get too stressed and won't vent otherwise."

That sets Castiel back on his heels. He studies Dean's sincere face for a minute. "What do you mean?" He lets Dean draw them together in a loose, affectionate hug.

"Do you realize you've only ever complained about your job - which you hate - one time? It was our first date, and the only thing you said about it was that you hated it. I can tell when you have bad days, but you never say anything about them. Doesn't take a genius to figure out you need an outlet for your frustration. I like to get creative."

How did he even...? Dean's level of perception is scary sometimes. Castiel presses his lips against Dean's adam's apple. "You also just like it sometimes."

"I do." He returns Castiel's kiss by pressing one to his forehead.

Castiel returns the return by trailing his mouth up Dean's neck, under his chin, around the sharp line of his jaw, and then over to his lips. He's not planning on more than second base since they've never gone farther than that before, but the desire to ride Dean into next Tuesday is starting to become more of a need than a want. And Castiel _does_ want. He wants _badly_. When Dean kisses him back, it's thunderous and frantic.

So, in the spirit of the holiday, Castiel doesn't stop his fingers from grabbing at Dean's chest to unbutton his hideous old man sweater. He practically rips it off of his arms even as Dean grouses between hurried, sloppy kisses, "careful. It's cashmere."

He's done complaining once his hands get in the game too, though. He starts at the top of his button down, Castiel at the bottom, fumbling quickly with the smaller buttons and never letting their lips stop devouring. It's a whirlwind of movement and hands and _oh, Jesus, Dean's skin is so warm_ , and Dean's hands are shoved under Castiel's shirt, digging in against his abs and it's the best feeling ever. With a hasty pop, Dean ends the kiss for the sole purpose of flinging Castiel's shirt over his head and throwing it with force towards the bedroom. Their eyes meet. They freeze.

Dean's chest is heaving the same as Castiel's. He looks stunned, like he's been hit over the head. His green eyes are wide. Wild. And his hands are still reaching out, though not touching anything. His face is flushed, lips swollen. He's the most beautiful thing that Castiel has ever seen, and he's not exaggerating.

"Your hair's a mess," Dean says.

"Dean," Castiel moans. The sound sucks Dean towards him again. Gentle fingers stroke his cheeks and their chests brush lightly.

"I didn't come here tonight to fuck you on Valentine's Day," Dean murmurs, pressing butterfly kisses all over Castiel's face.

Castiel drops his hands to Dean's hips, slipping his fingers just under the waistband of his jeans. He brushes against satin and lace and the only thing that he can possibly say in response to Dean's confession is, "I hope you're here tonight to fuck me on Valentine's Day." He dips his hands further down, feeling out the edges of the panties - bikini cut - and grabs a handful of Dean's ass. Dean twitches, flexes his thighs, arches into it, and they're back to kissing; Castiel feeling something close to relief about it.

Dean uses his body weight to push them towards the bedroom. Castiel stumbles the first three steps, then he falls properly into motion, their hips still pressed together. Every step Dean takes forward, Castiel mirrors backward in a strange dance, though they make into the room without any mishaps.

Castiel seats himself on the edge of the bed, reaching up towards Dean pleadingly, almost making grabby hands, but that's not sexy, so he doesn't. Dean is standing just far enough away that only the tips of Castiel's fingers touch his abs. Goosebumps rise over his skin and his core clenches, finely toned muscles trembling. "Tickles," Dean mutters.

Pulling away, Castiel moves to his belt, eyes never leaving Dean's face as he releases the buckle, snap, zipper. There's no standing on ceremony when he wants the man standing in front of him so terribly, so he pushes his pants and boxers off, kicking them away from his ankles. Being naked and half-hard for Dean's eyes to devour feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Breathlessly, Dean says, "Cas, you're..." He tries to swallow, almost choking on his tongue. Even though he coughs once to clear his throat before speaking again, his voice still sounds hoarse and dry. "I want you so fucking much. You have no idea." He slowly works open his own jeans, fingers shaking, pushing them off hesitantly. 

The panties he's wearing are gorgeous. Not a single stripe of pink or red on them to match the holiday. Castiel is grateful. They're blue. Dark, rich blue, shining satin. Demure sky blue lace trims the waistband, but they are otherwise unadorned. They fit Dean incredibly as almost a second skin. They sit low on his hips, round his ass nicely, and they made Castiel's mouth water. "Oh, Dean," Castiel whispers reverently.

Dean closes his eyes and tilts his chin up slightly. He's flushed now clear to his chest.

Castiel leans forward enough reach Dean's hands, cupping his fingers and bringing him in. He spreads his legs to allow the other man to rest his shins against the mattress. He smells clean laundry and musk right before touching his mouth against the bulge of Dean's cock covered by the impossibly soft satin.

Dean makes a strangled noise and sways forward. Guiding their joined hands behind his head, Castiel releases Dean's fingers, which tangle into his hair tightly. His own hands carefully brace against Dean's hips as he explores the textures with his mouth. Watery satin to course leg hair to firm bare skin above the navel. He bites down gently over the hipbone, right on top of the lace. Dean's knees buckle but Castiel is there to guide him down in a controlled fall to the bed, the taller man straddling his lap.

He doesn't seem to know what he wants to do next. Dean's eyes just roam over Castiel's face, fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair.

Castiel returns his stare. "Have you ever...?"

"Never acted on it," Dean confirms.

That does it nicely. Castiel pulls Dean's hips down until they're flush, his dick slotted between Dean's hardness and the jut of his hip. The slide over the satin makes them both moan. He slowly slips his fingers over the lace, signalling his intent, and Dean's pupils widen significantly when Castiel takes him in hand, pushing the panties down just enough to free him.

Their lips meet in a barely-kiss that's more just gasping into each other's mouths. Whether or not Dean's done this before makes no difference, as he proves to be a quick study. They're both achingly hard, pre-come making it easy for Castiel to jack them both off with one hand together. Every time he thrusts his hips up, Dean meets him with a delicious downward grind. His cock is almost as soft as the satin. The second the thought enters Castiel's head, he tries to force it back out because it's too much to handle all at once.

For his part, Dean is finally able to unlatch from Castiel's hair. His hands feather over all the available skin he can reach, his lips following soon after. He peppers Castiel's jaw and shoulders, chest and collar with endless small kisses and bites. Then Castiel uses his free hand to test the shape of Dean's satin-clad balls, squeezing lightly until Dean curses and slumps against him, open mouth hot against the curve of Castiel's neck.

Vaguely, Castiel wonders if they should have spent more time on foreplay, but discards the worry because the whole last month has felt like it. Spooning together when they slept, resting his head in Dean's lap while they watched Netflix and _knowing_ that there were panties hidden just a centimeter away and that Dean was dying to show them off. Seeing hints of color when Dean reaches for something high, or stretches. But not yet. Never quite yet.

Castiel thought that Dean would have been loud in bed, but he's not. Just small whimpers and whispers, "ah, Cas, yeah, Cas, just like that, _shit_."

He _has_ to hear it all; he can't miss a thing, so he's quiet too with his, "Dean, _hnn_ , please, Dean. More, I need _more_."

Dean's hands join his. They're sweaty and hot as they fondle his balls and the flat of his palm strokes firmly up his dick. 

He's going to come. Soon. " _Dean_!"

Their lips are seared together again, tongues searching, and Dean's thumb swipes over the head of his dick, once, twice, and the third time is an avalanche. His whole body locks and releases, splashing them both with come. 

And Dean _is_ loud for a split second in his raw ecstasy when he has to pull back from the kiss. It's a sharp cry followed by a throaty growl then his slick warmth added to Castiel's.

Neither one of them opens their eyes for a few minutes. Then things start to get cold and sticky, so Castiel reaches across the bed, blindly fumbling for the ratty undershirt he'd slept in to clean them off. They're both over-sensitive no matter how gentle he is.

When Castiel's done, Dean rolls to his side, wiggling out of the panties and tossing them in the direction of the closet laundry basket. Castiel leans over him to toss the shirt in the same direction. Then Dean splays onto his back, staring at the ceiling and tugging Castiel down with him to rest his head right over his heart. "That was amazing," he says.

Castiel smiles. "I wish it had lasted longer."

"Next time," Dean promises, idly stroking Castiel's arm from shoulder to elbow. "Sorry. I was so pent up, I couldn't help it."

"Me, too." They're quiet again, listening to the quiet ticking of the clock on the dresser. "Happy Valentine's Day," he murmurs.

Laughing, Dean moves just enough to kiss him deeply again. "If I'd known it was _that_ easy to change your mind..."

Castiel jabs him in the side. "No," he says firmly. But also a little bit of yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel better now.


	6. Wash With Like Fabrics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!!!!** Dean invites Castiel over. Sam appears!

"I want to plant tomatoes," Castiel says.

"It's ten degrees outside tonight," Dean answers. "Not quite the time yet to plant anything. Besides, where would you put them? You don't even have a balcony here."

Castiel sighs. "It's just a dream. I love growing things. I had a vegetable garden at my old house in the back yard. And a flower garden for the bees in front." He yawns widely, curling against Dean's chest and burrowing further under the comforter. He lazily sketches out his descriptions on Dean's sternum. "I had half an acre in back. I put a hammock between the oak trees, and there was a huge cherry tree the previous owners had planted. There were fruit trees, too. Apples, mostly. And Japanese maples in the front yard. I don't miss the house, but I miss the yard. Every house I viewed, I only cared about the yard." He yawns again. 

Dean gently strokes Castiel's warm bare back, soothing him closer to sleep. "Sounds like you're not so sad about downsizing your living space as you are downsizing your outdoor space."

Castiel's smile curves against his collarbone. "That's true. This condo suits me just fine. It's easy to keep clean."

Dean chuckles. "The shared walls kinda suck, though."

"I warned you about being so loud during sex. I could do without another embarrassing noise complaint."

"They're just jealous." Dean shifts a little onto his side, scooting Castiel up so that he can kiss him easily, languidly. Soon enough, Castiel wakes up a little bit more, but not quite enough to make their movements more than heavy-limbed and drowsy. Dean has maneuvered them onto their sides and slips his leg between Castiel's. Cas groans softly when Dean rolls his hips forward, dicks sliding against thighs. 

Castiel runs his unpinned hand down Dean's side, over his ribs, up the curve of his hip, and back along his ass. He'll never get over how amazing it feels to encounter the hard knots of muscles under the soft clingy silk of the red and black boyshorts he loves the most. Dean adores his obsession, too. He never begs Castiel to remove his panties quickly even when he's practically sobbing with the need for release. He always presses closer to the touch, eager for it. The indulgent fabrics feel just as good to him as they do to Castiel. 

But tonight they're exhausted. Castiel had worked a double shift to assist with the late-night inventory. Dean, though technically retired, had taken a modeling job that had lasted the better part of fifteen hours. He'd shown up to Castiel's condo looking harassed and freezing, muttering about being shoved into summer clothes and beachwear for an outdoor shoot in the middle of the goddamn winter. He had sworn darkly never to take another job again. Then he'd showed Castiel a few of the impromptu pictures his handler had taken on his cell phone. Castiel had given him the blowjob of his _life_ right there backed up against the front door. Then Dean had texted his agent to say that he really wouldn't mind a few more jobs here and there, you know, if anything happened to pop up.

And now they are entwined together, breathing more rapidly and creating warm pockets of air on each other's skin. Dean slides his hand into Castiel's boxers to free him as Castiel does the same. They work each other slowly. Dean's back arches, pressing him harder against Castiel, almost preventing him from being able to stroke his dick at all. But it's fine. The embers are slow to burn, stoking up to a fire and then banking again. The pleasure comes in gradually growing waves that are both frustrating and deliriously wonderful.

Dean's had the foresight to grab some tissues from the box on the nightstand, so when he hears the telltale hitch in Castiel's voice, thighs clenching and abs spasming, he catches the mess of his release in the tissue. Castiel moans and pushes up for a sloppy kiss, pumping Dean harder until he comes so suddenly that he almost doesn't manage to get his tissue into position before it creates a huge mess.

Dean can't open his eyes. He's sated and sleepy as he tosses the tissues over his shoulder, not caring where they land. Castiel is breathlessly laughing against him. "Good job with the tissues," he says.

He grins tiredly, "there was no way I was gonna be able to get up for a towel after that."

"I'm so tired," Castiel whines. "But that felt really good." He tucks them back into their underwear and resettles against Dean's chest, lulled to dozing quickly again by the sound of his heartbeat. They're quiet for a time.

Dean murmurs onto the crown of Castiel's head, "you're off tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," he answers. "I've gone over time and they don't want to pay me more, so I've got the next two days off."

"Good," Dean answers. Then he hesitates. He holds his breath for a moment, and his sudden disquiet makes Castiel pick his head up to look down on the man.

"Something wrong?"

"Do you... do you wanna come over to my place tomorrow? You haven't been there yet, and I figured... after a month... maybe you'd like to."

A slow, sleepy grin lights Castiel's face. "I'd love to."

That's been a thing with them. Dean waits for Castiel to have a day off and then shows up on his doorstep with takeout, or a movie they need to watch, or flowers, or a book Castiel had mentioned an intention to read. It had all become the routine. And after a while, Castiel had even stopped thinking about it or asking about it. It hadn't really bothered him. After all, he knew all about private spaces and the need for seclusion. It was strange to him how it never occurred to him to be worried about sharing so much of his life without Dean reciprocating with his private space. If it were anyone else, he would have wondered what there was to hide. But even though he knew nothing of how Dean lived when he wasn't there, it didn't feel like a secret, something he should be bothered by. It felt like something that simply hadn't become a part of their routine.

"I'm sorry I haven't brought you over before," Dean says.

Castiel rubs his face on Dean's chest. "It's fine, really. I figured you wanted to keep your secret vigilante lifestyle a mystery so I wouldn't be put in danger."

Dean laughs full and pleasantly. "Wow, I'm about to _totally_ disappoint you in..." he picks his head up to glance at the clock. "Twelve hours or so."

Castiel kisses him briefly before Dean rests his head back down on the pillow. "Only if it turns out you're not Batman."

Dean hugs him tighter. "Sorry. I'm Ironman."

"At least you're not Hawkeye."

Dean jabs him in the ribs. "You do _not_ want to start this with me."

Castiel yawns again. "Gabriel says that there are two sure ways to end a relationship; hanging wallpaper together, or arguing Marvel versus DC."

"Gabe is wise, you should listen to him. So, is this you subtly trying to break up with me?"

"Of course not," Castiel scoffs. "I'm just showing my jealousy over your unhealthy crush on Jeremy Renner."

Dean snorts. "You'd fuck him, too."

"In a second."

"Go to sleep, you big nerd."

The next yawn makes Castiel's jaw pop. "Hello, Kettle, I'm Pot..." He snorts a laugh at the next jab into his arm and then they both settle into a comfortable, amused silence that carries them into sleep.

xXx

Castiel isn't nervous to visit Dean's house. But Dean was _definitely_ nervous to invite him. He'd woken up, made coffee and poured cereal for the both of them as always. Then he'd dressed and handed Castiel a post-it note with his address. He sounds downright scared when he's hovering in the hallway and says, "come over whenever. I got nothing else planned today."

"I just need to run a few errands. So, after lunch, maybe? Should I bring anything?"

"No!" Dean almost yells. Then he swallows and says more calmly, "no. Just yourself, please."

He leaves quickly after that, and Castiel thinks, _"curiouser and curiouser," said Alice._

At 2:35, Castiel's GPS tells him that he has reached his destination. He blinks in surprise, almost sure that he has the wrong address. But, no. He can see up the driveway to a detached garage, door open, the Impala parked within. He pulls into the driveway, directly behind it. He doesn't turn off the car right away, instead peering up through the windshield at the _stunning_ house. It's not large, which Castiel likes. It's a cheerful light blue Victorian style, cozy. There's a two story turret on the left, wrap around porch and balcony, trimmed in dark cream with brick red accents. The dark red front door is inlaid with a stained glass window, as well as the circular attic window. Castiel finally takes his keys from the ignition and climbs out, pulling his tan trench coat tightly around him against the chill breeze as he jogs up the front path to the door. He rings the bell, studying the porch and noting the regretfully empty flower boxes lining the porch and first floor windows. They look like they've never been used.

He turns his attention back when he hears footsteps on the stairs, a stumble, curse, and a fairly distinct, "get _back_ , you furry asshole!"

Castiel grins. Dean opens the door. He's holding a huge Himalayan cat draped over his shoulder. "I thought you were allergic to cats," Castiel says instead of hello.

"I am," Dean confirms, "but this shithead ended up injured and chased under my porch a year ago, and I couldn't let him die there, so I dug him out and got him taken care of. Then he never went away. Now I have to take an allergy pill and nose spray all year round." Still, for as put out as he sounds, he's petting the feline in long strokes down its back and Castiel can hear the monstrous animal purring contentedly as Dean steps aside to let him in.

"You have a beautiful home," Castiel says with poorly-contained awe. The inside is just as lovely. Dark hardwood floors give way to tile in the kitchen. There's a small office to the right, bookcases on every wall in there, stairs in front of the door, and to the left, a wide hall with a game room and the kitchen beyond. No doors. It's small, but feels much bigger with the open floor plan. Castiel gawps at the pool table and pinball machine that Dean positively glows with pride about. 

"I'll give you the tour," Dean says, guiding them back. The kitchen is spacious. There's a dining table that seats six tucked into an alcove on the left near a wall of windows and glass door leading out to the porch. The washer and dryer are behind a sliding door recessed next to the pantry. The back wall has all of the counters, cabinets, and appliances with a butcher's block in the middle of the kitchen. To the right is another open doorway leading to, what looks like to Castiel, the most used room in the house. There's a large TV mounted on the wall over a wrought iron fireplace with antique wood trim. Papers and books and Blu-Ray cases are scattered on the coffee table, end table, and the couches. It looked like Dean had spent his morning in there working on his laptop. Castiel loves the space immediately. "You haven't seen the best part," he says before pointing to the door against the back wall.

The yard. _This yard_.

Dean sets the cat down on the couch and it jumps onto his open laptop, settling over the keyboard for warmth. He allows it and opens the door to a large brick red painted porch. There are bench seats attached to the rails all around, an extremely fancy grill, and down the back steps, what looked like at least a third of an acre of grass and, "apple trees," Castiel murmurs.

Dean sidles up next to him. "This house was built nearly a hundred years ago now. The former owner said that the apple trees are at least twenty years old. They produce more than I know what to do with every year." 

"You even have a privacy fence," Castiel says with envy. "It's paradise back here. Quiet."

It's too cold to stay out for long, so after a final longing look, Castiel allows Dean to pull him inside and take his coat. There's some talk about starting a fire in the fireplace, but it doesn't happen quite then when Dean says, "you know... I know we're still sort of new, and the weather's not right and all... but if we're still a thing when it gets warmer, you should come here and plant your bee garden or whatever. Vegetables, fruit. I don't care. The yard's sort of wasted on me. I just mow the grass. So, y'know... if you want..."

He's embarrassed, clearly, but Castiel helps by smashing their mouths together. Dean's all about that. He wraps his arms around Castiel's back, holding him firmly and tilting his head just right for a good, deep angle. Castiel hooks a hand at the back of Dean's neck, slipping his tongue past those full lips into the heat of Dean's mouth. 

After a few minutes of making out, the afternoon is looking to be _very_ pleasant, until a voice calls, "hey, Dean, you home? I came over to return your-oh shit, sorry!"

Castiel jumps back so fast that he hits the door with a crash. Dean's smiling, though. "Hey, Sammy!" he says brightly. He's not embarrassed in the slightest. 

The guy, "Sammy" is tall. Stupid tall. He's also very handsome, with an angular face, pronounced brow. Warm hazel eyes. "Sorry, Dean," he laughs in a self-deprecating manner like this wasn't the first time it had happened. "I'm just bringing back your slow cooker. The beef stew was a hit. Jessica loved it."

"Good to hear," Dean answers, reaching out for Castiel's hand. The other man takes it automatically, allowing himself to be drawn back to Dean's side. "Sam, this is my boyfriend, Castiel. Cas, my baby brother, Sam."

Sam holds out his hand, beaming. His handshake is firm. "Heard a lot about you, Cas. Tell my loser brother to invite you over to my house for dinner some time." Dean grumbles something, finally embarrassed, but that makes Sam smile wider. He starts walking backwards out of the room to take his leave. "It's taco night," he says in the same teasing-suggestive tone Dean uses when delivering news he knows is going to drop like a rock. "The more the merrier."

"Sam," Dean warns.

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll just hop on back next door and tell Jess your boyfriend is here." He barely finishes the sentence before Dean leaps forward to chase him to the front door.

Dean yells, "bitch!" and slams the door. 

Castiel can hear Sam outside shouting, "jerk!" And then, "Jess! Jess, you won't believe who I just met!"

Dean trudges back into the living room looking sheepish for the first time Castiel can remember. "I'm so sorry," he says.

"Why?" Castiel asks, fighting his own smile valiantly. 

"I don't know if you even like tacos, but you have to eat them tonight."

"Is it that serious?" Castiel asks, amused.

Dean's cell phone rings. He puts up one finger to stay the question. Presses accept and turns it on speaker, holding it out so Castiel can hear better. "Hey, Jess," he says.

 _"Taco night!"_ she yells. _"You're coming, Castiel's coming, and if you don't, I swear to God, Dean. I._ Swear. _To._ God _."_ She hangs up and Dean sighs.

After a moment, Castiel says, "I do like tacos, though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time it's taco night!


	7. Dressed for Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **!!!!NSFW!!!!** Dean shows Castiel his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied! It's not time for tacos, it's time for sex! Complaints may be entered into the comments section below.

“It’s only tacos, Dean.”

Dean is pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair and glaring darkly at everything. “You don't get it, Cas. This is Sam and Jess.”

As much as he hates to even think it, he has to know. “Dean? Is it an inappropriate time to introduce me to your family?”

That stops Dean cold. “What?”

Castiel scuffs his foot lightly on the polished hardwood. "We've only been together for a little more than a month now. And I can understand if that's not enough time for you to be comfortable with-"

"Whoa, hang on, Cas." Dean puts his hands up in a stopping motion. "This isn't about you and me, okay?" He paces back to Castiel and cups his elbows gently, pulling him against his chest. "I've already told them about you. I mean... it's sort of embarrassing, but I let the cat of the bag after about two weeks. I want everyone to know about us. I'm just..." his face scrunches into pure consternation. "It's _Sam and Jess_."

Though much more reassured that it wasn't about him, Castiel still fails to see the problem. "What's wrong with them? Sam seemed perfectly friendly. And... a lot like you, actually."

Dean groans with frustration. "Eh, it's just _them_. They can come on a little strong. I can almost guarantee they'll be polite for about ten minutes before asking us when we're getting married and having babies."

"Oh?" Castiel kisses Dean on the cheek and then makes himself comfortable on the sofa next to the cat. "I'd like a summer wedding, please."

"Oh my God, Cas. If you listen to anything I say, _please_ let it be this: don't play their game."

"Two children sounds good. More than that, and it's too dangerous because they can outflank us."

"Seriously, Cas."

"We should probably start with another cat, though." Castiel tuts at him and lets the cat onto his lap.

" _Cas_! Dammit, why was I worried about you? You'll be perfect with them, and all gang up on me, and I'll never live it down."

"Don't stress like this; you'll go bald."

With a huff, Dean collapses next to him. "I _can_ kick you out, you know."

"Not before taco night," Cas returns primly. "What would Sam and Jess think?"

Dean tackles him and the cat runs off at top speed. Castiel is laughing hard. It feels rusty, like he almost can't remember how to do it. It's certainly been awhile since it's ached his ribs with its genuine pleasantness. He likes it. Loves it. He's happy. Dean's pinning him down by the hips, straddling him and batting him repeatedly with an ugly throw pillow covered in cat hair. Castiel raises his arms to defend himself, poorly, because he's still laughing too hard. Then Dean is laughing and then the battle is over.

Castiel rubs the corners of his eyes with his thumbs. "You make me very happy," he says.

Dean kisses him and it's awkward since neither of them can stop grinning and chuckling every now and then, so their teeth clack together. "Dinner's at eight," Dean says breathlessly. "That's like, five hours from now."

"This is true," Castiel agrees. "You haven't finished giving me the tour. I think I should see your bedroom. It would be rude of you not to show me."

"Totally rude." Dean climbs off the couch and offers his hand, hauling Cas up. He can't resist another deep kiss before tugging him back towards the stairs. By the time they've fumbled off parts of clothing and exchanged a dozen kisses up the stairs, Castiel can't even feign polite interest at the two spare bedrooms and well-appointed guest bathroom before they're tripping into the master bedroom. There, Castiel _does_ break away. Dean lets him, smiling shyly while his guest turns in a full circle to take it all in. 

It's overwhelming right off. He feels like he's surrounded by Dean on all sides. The room smells like him. There are neatly, expensively framed posters, some autographed, from AC/DC, Metallica, Led Zeppelin tours that he probably wasn't even alive for. The sleigh bed is huge with dark sheets and comforter that look like they could be sunk into forever. There's a smaller TV tucked onto the wall on a low shelf with more movies and games. Padded bench seats along the turret jutting out with paneled windows in the corner. A large en-suite bathroom he can glimpse a jacuzzi tub in. "This room," Castiel muses. "I couldn't possibly picture you living anywhere else now that I've seen it."

Dean presses up against his back, chin resting on Castiel's shoulder, hands firmly anchored against his chest. He's still half-hard and very, very warm. His husky voice is the best sound ever when he murmurs, "I've never invited anyone into my room before."

Castiel smiles and shakes his head. "I wouldn't be jealous if you had, so if that's a lie, you can take it back."

Dean rocks them a little, walking them towards the windows like they're glued together. "Sammy and I didn't have much growing up. We shared bedrooms, motel rooms, bathrooms, everything. When I was able to buy this house, it was like my oasis, y'know? I liked being able to fill it with my own stuff, but I got lonely. I like sharing everything when I can, but this room. It's the only thing I've ever had totally to myself. You get that?"

Castiel presses his hands over Dean's on his chest, trying not to let his heartbeat go crazy. "Why did you want to share this with me?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light, but it's not enough with the important question.

Turning his face into Castiel's neck he says, "we haven't been together long enough for me to ruin _that_ surprise just yet."

Despite saying so much with so little, Castiel can't help the sudden explosion of need within him. He's not even sure how he spins around and muscles Dean over to the window seats, pushing him down forcefully. Dean sits with a grunt of surprise, but he's all sly smirk when Castiel is down on his knees in front of him, bathed in the afternoon sunlight peeking through the shades. "I'm spending the night tonight," he says matter-of-factly as he reaches directly for Dean's fly, opening his jeans and sliding them off.

"I enjoy sleepovers," Dean agrees, already slightly breathless and still mostly hard from before.

Today's panties are green, lacy, low cut things that Castiel's never seen before. He feathers his fingers over the thin material and can see Dean's dick twitch just from that. "These look wonderful on you," he says appreciatively. "They look good on you in this room with this lighting. You're spoiling me, Dean." He dips his head forward, mouthing over the lace, soaking the nearly-translucent fabric easily with his saliva. Dean's palms press hard against the bench seat cushions, thrusting up slightly. His straining arm muscles and clenching abs under lightly freckled shoulders, make Castiel's pants uncomfortably tight. Everything about Dean amazes him, touches him, binds him tighter to the "surprise that wasn't ready to be ruined yet." He lifts his head just enough to let his hands take over, tracing the outline of Dean's cock, underneath his balls, over his thighs while he says conversationally, "what do you like to do at sleepovers?"

Dean hisses and curses when Castiel slides one finger under the leg opening, brushing the side of his dick with a blunt nail. "Oh, I like the normal stuff," his voice trembles with need and his head falls back against the blinds. "Laying you out on the bed naked. Fuc- _fuck_ -fucking you crazy while I'm wearing whate- _shit, Cas_ -whatever panties you like."

Castiel pulls down the panties just enough that the tip of Dean's dick slips out, glistening with precome. He hums a little and licks over the tip, delving into the slit. Dean's hips jut off the bench accompanied by a filthy moan. "You want to be inside me, Dean?" he asks, voice low and rough. He palms himself through his jeans, pressing against his own hardness to try and relieve some of the pressure.

He opens his mouth against the tip of Dean's cock, slowly taking him in inch by inch, pushing the panties down with his chin. His hands stroke over Dean's lower back, curling underneath the waistband and dragging them lower down his thighs.

Dean's hands are hot with sweat when he digs them into Castiel's hair. "Wanna be inside you so bad, Cas. So, so bad." His words take on the rhythm of Castiel's mouth bobbing up and down at a maddeningly slow pace. He relaxes his throat to take Dean in better when he thrusts up, doing nothing to stop the man from moving his hips freely. 

Dean's balls begin to tighten up under his hands so he pulls off. It's too soon for it to end. "Show me how you'd fuck me," he says, eyes boring into Dean's. "Show me in my mouth how you'd do it if you were inside me."

" _Jesus fucking_ -" Dean shoves himself off of the bench seat, yanking Castiel up by the arms and switching their places. He doesn't remove his panties low on his thighs, which Castiel loves. The former/still sort-of model, braces both his hands on the window, letting his head fall between his shoulders to watch Castiel. "Touch yourself," he demands. "I want you to come with me."

He's opened his jeans in record time, aching dick in hand. Dean curves a hand behind Castiel's neck, guiding him gently, pushing his cock past Castiel's wet lips. He starts with shallow thrusts and gradually goes deeper as Castiel stretches his jaw open. He watches himself sliding in and out of Cas's mouth with heavy-lidded eyes and small moans of pleasure.

Castiel grips himself tightly, jerking his own dick with long rough strokes while Dean fucks his mouth like he was made to do it. It's blissful. Castiel feels himself slipping on the tide of lust and happiness that brings him closer to the edge. He closes his eyes to feel just the silky glide of Dean's dick in and out. It'll feel even better inside him. The thought forces him to swallow convulsively.

Dean shudders and his fingers tighten in Castiel's hair. He tries to pull away, but that would be _such a waste_ , so Castiel grabs him harder, holding Dean in place, and he swallows again. Dean's whole body goes rigid with his shout, and Castiel's a little disappointed that the come shoots down his throat so fast that he doesn't get much of a chance to taste it.

The feeling only lasts a second, though, because Dean is on his knees then, too, taking huge, gulping breaths to recover faster, though Castiel hopes he doesn't make himself too dizzy. Dean's hands hit the bench seat and leans forward and down. Castiel is wholly unprepared for his dick to be swept all the way into Dean's mouth in one fell swoop. His back arches involuntarily at the sudden heat. He sees stars behind his closed eyelids a second before Dean hums, a thrilling vibration against his cock, and Castiel's coming too, trying his best not to yank Dean's hair out in the process.

The afterglow is calming and wonderful. They fix their clothes and wander to the bed. Castiel splays out on top of the down comforter, moaning. It's almost as good as the sex.

"Memory foam," Dean grins, voice still sex-wrecked.

They lay side by side on their backs, arms and legs touching. "Now I realize why you're always asleep when I call you," Castiel says.

"Yeah, you can't blame me. This bed is magical."

"Perfect for sleepovers," Castiel adds.

"Speaking of which..." Dean nods his head to the side where what appears to be a handmade dresser sits. It's carved and smoothed along the edges with four smaller drawers on the top, three deep, larger drawers on bottom. "Top two right drawers."

Interested, Castiel manages to convince his body to get out of the bed. He stands in front of the drawers for a moment before pulling them open. Ah. It's beautiful. It's all of Dean's panties neatly sorted and folded. "Any one I like?" he murmurs.

"Any one you want me to wear while I'm fucking you later," Dean amends.

Castiel turns his head to see Dean propped up on his side resting his cheek on his palm. He's an Adonis, and he knows it. Castiel is glad for that. He makes a small thoughtful sound and turns back to the drawers. Dean's got quite the collection now. It's most colors besides yellow, orange, and white, which he doesn't like. The majority are darker, bold colors in reds, greens, blues. A pair of blood red high cut panties catches his eye. They're pure silk, edged with black satin and lace embellishments, and Castiel is certain they'll ruin them forever in one try. He's also certain that Dean bought them for that purpose. Carefully, he pulls them out and shows them to Dean.

"Knew you'd like those," Dean grins.

"They look expensive," Castiel frets. "Are you sure it's okay?"

"Are they the ones you want?"

"Yes."

He shrugs one shoulder. "Then it's fine. In fact..." he scoots over on the bed and beckons Castiel over for a long, lazy kiss. Against his lips, Dean says, "it'd be super hot if I totally destroyed them having sex with you."

A shiver of desire that can't grow to anything quite so soon after their lovemaking, runs up Castiel's spine. "I can't wait."

Dean's grin turns feral. "I hope you think about them all through taco night."

Castiel crawls up onto the bed, using his weight to push Dean flat on his back again and straddles him. "I hope you do, too."

"What would Sam and Jess think?" Dean mimics him from earlier.

Castiel's slow, sexy return smile has Dean arching up for another kiss. When they pull apart, Castiel answers, "they'll think that I'm taking great care of you."


	8. Gently Worn Hand Me Downs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taco night!

Despite Dean's lack of embarrassment over Sam finding him making out with his boyfriend earlier, Dean does take the time for both he and Castiel to wash up before going across the yard for taco night. As they trudge over, hand in hand, Castiel asks, "is taco night a regular thing?"

Dean shrugs. "Mostly. It's really whenever Jess goes on one of her cooking sprees and makes enough to feed an army. There's a curry night, hamburger night, pizza night, chili night. All kinds."

That makes Castiel smile. "And she knows you will always show up for food."

With a laugh, Dean agrees. "Yeah, but I have this nasty habit of not being around much if I'm left on my own too long. I'll work too late or get caught up in a TV marathon for the whole weekend. I'm sort of bad at keeping track of the time."

Castiel chuckles. "I believe that."

They're at the front porch now, and Castiel admires the younger Winchester's house, which is just as lovely and well-kept as Dean's. He's pleased to see flower boxes that have obviously been used before, making a note to ask them what they plant, and hopefully encourage them to attract some bees this year. It appears larger than Dean's, a Tudor style, with unchipped off-white paint and dark-brown-almost-black trim. The porch light is on and warm light spills out of all the downstairs windows. Even from outside the house feels inviting. 

Dean opens the door without knocking and brings Castiel inside. "We're here!" he calls.

The first response is in the form of paws thumping on the hardwood floors. A large golden retriever bounds into view. Dean braces himself for the inevitable collision, but it's Castiel who gets legs full of enthusiastic dog. 

"Bones!" Sam calls from somewhere towards the back of the house. "Behave!"

"Traitor," Dean mumbles. After a thorough ear scratching and butt pat, Bones deigns to let the visitors into the house proper. Castiel loves it. It smells spicy and clean, a mixture of the food cooking and probably scented candles. Sam and Jess have a lot more items around their house, but it's far from cluttered. Castiel peeks around at the framed pictures from their wedding while they walk towards the kitchen, vacations, old family photos, and he smiles. There are very few which don't feature Dean in some way.

"You made it!" Sam says brightly as he meets them in the living room. There's a fire in the gas fireplace, glowing against low-wattage light bulbs and rich brown furniture. It's one of the most comfortable rooms that Castiel has ever been in. He shakes Sam's hand again and accepts the Corona he holds out to him. 

"Thank you for inviting me," Castiel says sincerely.

Jess is out of the kitchen a second later with a beer for Dean as well as a long hug. It makes Castiel smile to see Dean plant a kiss in her blonde hair and squeeze her off her feet. Then she's right in front of Castiel, hugging him around his middle while Dean snickers at his shocked expression.

"I'm sorry if I'm being too forward," she says against his shirt, "but I'm _so_ , so happy to finally meet you. Dean talks about you all the time." She pulls back and beams up at him, rubbing his arms before releasing him. "You're the first person he's been with for more than a month since Sam and I started dating."

Castiel has no idea how long that is.

"They met at Stanford. They're lawyers," Dean fills in darkly.

"One of the oldest and most noble professions," Castiel says.

Sam seems shocked at the lack of bloodsucking lawyer jokes. With an expression so serious that it can't actually _be_ serious, Jess takes Castiel's face in her hands and kisses him on both cheeks. "If Dean ever decides he won't have you anymore, please consider polygamy with Sam and me."

Sam laughs and thumps Dean on the back. Dean continues to scowl as they make their way into the kitchen. "Jess is actually in malpractice law now. She started off in med school. Dean mentioned you work for Macy's," he says.

"Yes," Castiel answers.

"He hates his job," Dean adds.

"I hate my job," Castiel repeats happily. "But it was the only one that I could get before my savings ran out. Hopefully it's just a stopgap." He moves to the kitchen island to help Jess bring over the overflowing dishes of food and garnishes to the table in the corner. He and Dean are seated at the small, rectangular table side by side, Sam and Jess across from them. There don't appear to be any rules or order as to how they fill their plates, simply taking what they want from the center.

"Have you thought about doing something else when you can? What did you do before?" Sam asks Castiel.

Castiel scoops a helping of pulled chicken into his hard shells, topping it with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and guacamole. "I was in real estate before. That's why I lost my job. Housing bust and all. Before that I was an interior designer, and before that I studied fashion and interior design in college."

"You could probably go into business by yourself if you got a good loan!" Jess suggests encouragingly.

"I've thought about it," Castiel admits with a smile.

"If you need free legal advice..." Sam gestures between himself and Jess. She nods enthusiastically. 

Castiel pauses, surprised. It's not like he expected them to be rude or anything, but offering to help the man who their brother has been dating for no more than six weeks, sure is a show of acceptance and welcome that he's never encountered before. He sets his plate down carefully on the place mat so he doesn't drop it. "Thank you," he answers quietly. Dean squeezes his thigh under the table.

"So, what would you do, in an ideal world, being your own boss?" Jess asks before taking a huge bite out of her taco. She eats so similarly to Dean it almost makes Castiel laugh. He finds that he is much more reserved with his manners, equal to Sam.

"I'd like to design clothes again," Castiel says. "I've learned a lot working at Macy's, actually. Maybe everyday wear."

"What kind?" Sam asks.

He glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye, sure that only the former model can see the slightest shift in his expression that adds a little bit of heat. "Specialized menswear," he answers.

Dean's face doesn't give anything away, but there's a dangerous promise in the way he strokes Castiel's leg before he pulls away and tucks into his food.

"That's exciting!" Jess exclaims. "You've even got a model on call!"

Dean throws a piece of shredded lettuce at Sam, who wipes it off and protests, "what'd you do that for?"

"I can't throw it at Jess."

"Why not?" she whines. "I'm family!"

"Yeah, but you weren't raised in a barn like me and Sam."

"True," she answers, taking another large bite out of her taco.

"Seriously, though," Sam says, throwing the lettuce back at Dean, "Cas, if you really do want to set something up for yourself and get out of retail, let me know. I'm more than happy to help with your business plans and any contracts you'd need."

Castiel takes the lettuce from Dean's hand before he can embarrass himself further. "I'd never be able to pay you back for something like that."

With a truly surprised expression, Sam answers, "sure you would! But if you're talking about money, there are more important things in life. Like helping friends and family."

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean groans with a hot face, though he sounds far from pleased.

"Don't even," Jess says, grinning. "Look, Cas, you're like me, right? You've fallen in with this family through good luck, not by birth. There's something you have to know about the Winchesters, and that is: when they care, they go whole hog. And you can say you don't need it until you're blue in face, but they'll do it anyway. If you want to save yourself a half a lifetime of arguments, you should just roll with it."

Castiel glances at Dean, who is scratching his ear. He looks at Sam who is beaming at Jess and then at Castiel. He turns his attention squarely to his plate. "I..." Castiel begins. It feels like anything he'd say just wouldn't be enough. "Thank you. All of you. I don't think I've felt more welcome anywhere."

A small piece of diced tomato smacks his cheek. His head shoots up and Jess is laughing. " _Now_ you're welcome here forever." She winks. Castiel laughs again and feels like he could keep doing it for the rest of his life if only he remains worthy of the Winchesters.

He seems to be doing just fine, though. Castiel drinks their beer and eats far more than he should have, to the delight of Jess when they both sit side by side on the couch, Castiel groaning under his own full weight. She takes his hand now that they're alone. Sam and Dean are currently in charge of cleaning up the mess from dinner, especially since they hadn't been able to resist a minor food fight between the two of them as dinner had progressed from needing to eat and into pushing the rest around while chatting.

"I really do like you, Cas," Jess says without preamble as they warm themselves in front of the fire.

"I like you, too, Jess," he says. He means it.

She leans back onto the armrest of the couch and tucks her feet under her. Her gaze is assessing, but not uncomfortable. "You're not close with your family, are you?"

Normally, it's a subject that Castiel doesn't enjoy getting into. It's overly complicated and rarely something even _he_ understands. But with Jess, sitting on her plush sofa in a warm house filled with good energy he says, "I'm not, no. Not really. I moved away as soon as I obtained my Master's degree. They didn't approve of my life choices."

Jess barrels through the whole personal boundaries issue like they'd known each other for years. It's wonderful because it feels like they have. "Was it the whole being gay thing?"

"No," he smiles. "They're fairly forward-thinking. But they're also very rich."

"Ah," she says, in a voice dawning with understanding. "You didn't want to go into the family business."

"Not in the slightest," he confirms. "They don't do anything bad; not really. They don't rip people off or hire hitmen, or steal. It's just... not my thing. I had a passion for design. I didn't want to be an accountant or a VP of whatever-the-hell Mother would have made me."

Jess rests her chin on her fist, tilting her chin. Her eyes are warm. "Would you have been happy?"

He turns to the side, facing her fully and tucking his socked feet up, too. It never occurred to him to do what he always did with people he wasn't intimately familiar with. He didn't bother to lie or stretch the truth. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to let her in as easily as he did Dean. "Reasonably so, I'm sure. But I probably would have been restless, too. The money would have been nice. Actually, I'm sort of glad that I fell off the path after the housing bust. Lost myself a little bit."

"Why?" she giggles. "It's awful being broke and having a job you hate!"

He grins. "Well, yes, but it showed me the last of my selfishness. Even though I had enough independence to get away and do my own thing, I also fell into my old habits. The expected habits of the children in my family. I let everything just take me along with the flow. I got lazy. It was how I went from design to real estate. I didn't like selling houses. I didn't like what Dick Roman was doing. But I assumed it was a natural progression. Then... the bubble popped. I was on my ass. And now I'm facing the music of my own hubris. At least Macy's is far from the worst place to end up."

"True enough," Jess says. "It's good you're so self-aware. And seriously. Take advantage of Sam and Dean's offers when they give them, even if you feel like it's too much to accept. They're both caretakers. You won't be using them. It's how they show their love."

"That's good to know," Castiel answers.

"Hey, you two gossips," Dean says, coming around the couch and dropping a kiss on the top of Castiel's head. "Having fun?"

"Sure," Jess answers. "Cas here has just been spilling his life story."

Dean winks at Cas. "Hope you've been making everything up and giving her a good show."

"Oh, yes, I have," Castiel says, smiling calmly.

"Good, but it's late," Dean says with mock regret. "I think it's past your bedtime." He holds out both of his hands, wiggling his fingers.

"You can stay for a while," Sam protests, walking in with a mug of tea for Jess.

"I was trying to be polite," Dean claims. "But, I see I have to forget tact. I'm taking Cas home so we can fuck."

"Yeah, that's more fun than being here," Jess says without missing a beat, sipping her tea like Dean hadn't said something that had made Castiel blush to his roots.

Sam has the decency to look mildly grossed out, but he walks them to the door, hanging out while they slip on their shoes. "I hope we didn't scare you away for future dinners here." He holds out his hand again and Castiel shakes it.

"Not even close. I had a wonderful time. Thank you for your hospitality."

_Now_ Sam looks completely disgusted. "Enough with the formality. Jess threw tomatoes at you. You're practically family." He opens the door for them. "Have a good night."

"'Night, Sammy," Dean says, pulling on his coat and stepping into the freezing evening. Then he leans over the door frame and yells, "'night, Jess!"

"Use protection!" She calls back. "You'll regret getting pregnant this early in the relationship!"

Dean chuckles. "Send her back to med school. She's forgot how the birds and the bees work."

Sam rolls his eyes, but his grin is infectious. "See 'ya later."

Castiel tucks himself against Dean's side, warmer than ever as they walk back to the house. Dean wraps his arm around his shoulders. They're pressed fully together on their sides, anticipation and happiness swirling between them. Castiel loves Sam and Jess's house, but he can't wait to be back in Dean's. "Feels like it might snow," he says softly.

Dean pulls him closer. "I hope so." His smile is the spark of the fire in Castiel's heart.


	9. No Returns or Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel get down to business.

The cat is waiting for them at the door, winding around their ankles and tripping them up as they stumble, laughing, into the hallway. Dean gets a particularly good windmilling close call and yells, "dammit, Gimli, you murderous bastard!"

Castiel freezes in place.

Dean recovers from is almost-fall by grabbing onto the banister for dear life. "What?"

Castiel leans down and picks up the huge, purring animal. He holds it eye level and the Himalayan blinks its contented blue eyes at him and butts him on the forehead. "Gimli?" he asks.

"Yeah," Dean answers, rubbing his bruised shin.

Castiel snorts. Then he's laughing again, that pure, rich sound he'd been able to achieve just hours before. "I love you, Gimli."

Dean chuckles. "Suits him, doesn't it?"

Castiel kisses Gimli on his head and sets him down. "It does."

"Do I get a kiss, too?" Dean's eyes are light and shining.

"You do." Castiel reaches for him and brings Dean's head down, kissing him on the forehead. The look Dean gives him afterwards is full of that "big secret" he'd mentioned. So Castiel kisses him again, this time on the bridge of his nose. Eyelids. Cheeks. Chin. Mouth. Dean encircles him in his arms, tugging them together for the full experience. It's a wonderful experience.

Dean pulls back with a fond smile. "You taste like garlic."

"Let's get ready for bed," Castiel answers.

Dean keeps his hands on Castiel's waist lightly as they walk up the stairs, thumbs drawing slow circles right above the waistband of his jeans, a ticklish turn-on against his sensitive skin.

Clothes come off slowly, dropping to the ground in a trail towards the bedroom. Dean and Castiel touch and kiss each other all over bared skin as they stumble towards the bed. The bed frame stops Castiel from being able to move backwards anymore, meeting him at ass level. His hands run over Dean's bare chest and back, tracing muscles and chasing the goosebumps he creates. Dean's mouth presses lazy kisses that move ever downwards. 

Castiel's hands move into Dean's hair, holding lightly when the former model sucks one of Castiel's nipples into his mouth, biting a little and thumbing over the other one with his nail. Castiel hisses, body arching against Dean's. He responds by slipping even lower to his knees. He takes the time to explore Castiel's tightening abs at the same time unbuttoning his jeans, dragging down the zipper maddeningly slow. Once they're off and pushed down over Castiel's hips, he sighs with relief that his aching erection has some space to breathe.

Dean's mouth on him is always a revelation, especially the way his lips stretch and part as they take Castiel's dick into his mouth slowly, looking up from under his long eyelashes, tongue tracing the vein up. Castiel whimpers at the warm heat, tangling his fingers into Dean's hair. "Don't let me come like this," he murmurs.

Of course he won't. Dean pulls off with a smirk. "I'll be inside you when I do." Castiel slides up onto the bed, kicking his pants off fully while he does. And he has the presence of mind to reach behind him for the condoms and lube. His hands are shaking as he gives them to Dean. He's shaking to his core from need. Dean fills every part of it.

Dean is pressing him back against the pillows, spreading him wide, though he hardly needs to put much effort into it. Castiel is always ready for the former model. Always, always, wide open and wanting. He closes his eyes when Dean's tongue traces the seam of his lips, dipping in. The kiss is fully distracting to Castiel until it's only half distracting when Dean's deft, slick fingers, stroke down his dick, lower over his balls, teasing his entrance in slow circles until Castiel is whining in the back of his throat. He arches off the bed, frustrated and needy and biting down on Dean's bottom lip.

The second his teeth clamp down, Dean pushes a finger inside him and it feels like _finally_ being able to scratch an itch that's been evasive for hours. It's not enough but it keeps him from going out of his damn mind. He grabs at Dean's ass, slipping his fingers under the silk and lace and he shudders. He wants to take it all slow. Those panties that he'd chosen that Dean's wearing are the perfect pair to slow, delicious love-making. But, this is _Dean_ , and Dean wants to be _inside_ him, fucking into him. Too much. His head might explode. He might black out. He might-

"Are you... panicking? Should I stop?" Dean's worried voice breaks through the haze. He's stopped moving completely and that's the exactly _last_ thing that Castiel wants.

"No," he assures him forcefully. "I'm just... a little overwhelmed?"

Dean's smoky chuckle brings him back to the present. "Got nothing but a busy signal in your head right now? I know the feeling. Hey, Cas. Just open your eyes and watch me, all right? Watch me."

He'd dearly love to, but that's what's brought him to this very predicament in the first place. He does his best though, that's all anyone can ask. He keeps his hands moving everywhere they want, though gradually they end up running over Dean's panties more than anything. He fingers the lace and then the silk. Slips one finger into the valley of Dean's hip where the waistband doesn't completely touch skin. Back out and over his silk-clad erection to where a spot of pre-come dampens the expensive fabric. It's bliss. Warm. Silk. Wet. Oh, no. It's like high school all over again. He's going to come too soon.

"Easy, Cas," Dean's voice breaks through the fog. It's sexy and sure, but somehow it calms Castiel back from the blissful edge. His vision swims with green, shining at him. Smiling. Dean stretches Castiel open so slowly. Castiel blinks up at him, watching, trying to keep his eyes open. Dean is straddling his thighs, making tiny movements to rub the silk against his skin, thrusting up almost until it's against his own dick. The sight is lewd and wonderful and Castiel's gaze is trapped by it. He doesn't even know how long it's been going on, but when Dean slips in another slick finger, he also tilts his head back on a breathy moan and Castiel is enraptured by the long column of the man's throat. He feels the twitch of Dean's cock and is fiercely pleased that the whole process is undoing him as well.

By the time that Dean has a third finger inside him, Castiel can't contain his own gasps. He is loose. He's ready. He tells Dean so. And just before Dean removes his hands, he twists his fingers just enough to hit that sweet spot that very nearly makes Castiel come off the bed with a hoarse cry as a spike of raw electrical current snaps over his nerve endings.

Dean finally withdraws and fumbles for the condom and more lube. He flashes a sheepish grin at Castiel while he tears open the wrapper. His hands are shaking. Castiel wants to kiss him, but he's not sure that he can even sit up at this point.

"Keep watching me, Cas," Dean advises. He spreads his palms out over his sculpted abs, dipping down under the lace and silk. It's a beautiful show. He slips the panties down until they're snug under his balls, making his erection stand out all the more. Castiel licks his lips. It's amazing that the former model can even make putting on a condom look incredible. He spreads a generous amount of lube over himself, scooting up closer, planting his hands on either side of Castiel's head. "This okay?"

"Not if you don't get in me now," Castiel gasps, trying not to buck against Dean's dick too fast where it's just barely pressed against him.

Dean brushes Castiel's face. "I don't mean to torture you. But we gotta go slow. I'll give you what you need. Just hang in there."

He's going to try.

But, _holy mother of God, yes,_ when Dean starts to slide in centimeter by slick, smooth centimeter. Castiel's hands fly to Dean's ass, grabbing handfuls of tight muscles clad in silk, sliding over the dips and planes, kneading. What an incredible sensation. The stretch and burn gives way gradually to exquisite pleasure as he relaxes to the invasion. And Dean knows how to make it perfect. He wraps his forearms under Castiel's legs and brings them up. Castiel shifts and the new angle makes Dean hit his prostate just right. They both gasp and Dean's taut muscles quiver under his fingers. "Please move, Dean. Move for me." It sounds like begging. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but Dean's moving. He's _moving_. It's like nothing he ever felt before. Like seeing the fireworks on New Year's Eve. He watches Dean's dick sliding in and out of him, hitting home, silk pressing against his most sensitive parts when he bottoms out.

Dean Winchester is beautiful. Strong. A miracle walking into his plain, unfulfilling life. He's holding himself back to bring Castiel the greatest pleasure that he can. He's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth until it's swollen and red. Sweat glistens on his overheated skin, a long bead breaking down from his temple to beneath his chin.

Castiel meets his thrusts upwards with everything he can as he takes himself in hand, not gentle. It's impossible to stop the wave upon wave of pleasure growing and cresting. He has to come. He really, really has to. "I'm almost there," he slurs. He hopes Dean understands his garbled words.

Dean lets out a strangled sound of relief. "Fuck, you're so hot, Cas. Unbelievable. I'm gonna come, too. Can I come inside you?" His breath heaves and he moans long and loudly.

Gripping him harder, Castiel nods frantically. "Please do." _That sounds weird and formal._ "Come inside me, Dean. Now."

With a guttural shout, Dean comes hard, his body tensing as he releases. Castiel strokes himself as fast as he can, his orgasm washing over him seconds later, soaking his hand. The air punches out of his lungs. Somewhere downstairs - Castiel can't remember where right now - a grandfather clock ticks until Castiel loses count of the seconds passing. He nearly dozes off, but Dean shifts then.

Holding on to the base of the condom, he pulls out slowly, and too soon for Castiel's taste, but he understands. The taller man is wobbly when he stands up to throw it away and stagger to the bathroom to wash his hands and then bring back a washcloth for Castiel to clean up with. He's beaming and looks like he's about to fall asleep. "On or off?" he asks.

Castiel wipes himself down, tosses the washcloth towards the bathroom and spreads his arms wide to welcome Dean back to the bed. "On," he says with a sated smile.

Dean adjusts his nearly diminished erection in the surprisingly unmessed panties and climbs into the bed, into Castiel's waiting arms. They curl together naturally, heavy-limbed and sleepy.

"Why did you name your cat Gimli?" Castiel asks.

Dean snorts. "Why _wouldn't_ I?"

Castiel chuckles. "Stupid question."

With a small laugh, Dean strokes idly at Castiel's hair at the base of his neck, relaxing him further. His voice is incongruously soft when he asks, "did you have fun today?"

"More fun than I've had in a very long time," Castiel answers immediately. He rolls fully onto his side, resting his forearms on Dean's chest, peering at the glorious man lying on his back below him. "You were nervous."

"Pretty much the whole time," Dean admits. His arresting green eyes slide away. "I really wanted you to like my family. They're all I've got next to you."

Castiel tilts his head, forcing Dean to meet his eyes. "They're wonderful. Sam is fantastic. And Jess is lovely." He touches Dean's bottom lip. Kisses him slowly. "Thank you, Dean. I do understand what you're sharing with me. Everything you really care about."

Dean grabs him by the arms, yanking them out to topple him into a hug, nose smashed against the notch between his collarbones. Castiel _oofs_ , but allows the squeeze. He can feel Dean's lips in his hair. He loves that. "I don't deserve you, Cas," he says, voice rough. "How do you get me so well?"

"Easy," Castiel answers. "Because I care about you. More than anyone else, so I pay attention. I want to make you happy."

Dean kisses the top of his head again and again. It's like eating a piece of candy, it's such a treat. "Little more every day, Cas."

It takes Castiel a long time to fall asleep. He's too preoccupied with the unfamiliar sounds the house is making as it settles. Dean relaxing into his own mattress with a completely different set of wiggles and grunts than he uses at his apartment. Gimli jumps onto the bed and startles when he discovers another human in his spot. Dean's fallen asleep by then, so Castiel coos at the animal until it accepts his presence and bullies his way onto the pillow, curling up at the crown of his head. Grinning, Castiel reaches up awkwardly to pet him before kissing Dean and closing his eyes. Little more every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was drunk tonight when I wrote this. If it didn't make sense and devolved into, like, Klingon, sorry!


	10. Personalized Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Castiel takes a huge step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I haven't really edited this. You have been warned.

After such a blissful time together, naturally Dean and Castiel's collective schedules go to shit. They don't see each other as much as they like. Castiel has to deal with a staff shortage and no one willing to hire more people, just as Dean falls into more modeling jobs, to the point that he's only in semi-retirement, and Castiel is spending almost twelve hours a day in Retail Hell. At least the extra hours, plus time and a half allow him to save quite a bit to invest readily.

And most of the time during the next month, Castiel often says, "to hell with it," and shows up on Dean's doorstep well after appropriate hours, but always into welcoming arms and a sigh of relief that they are back in each other's orbit again.

It's mid-April during the last gasp of winter when a heavy snowstorm blows through over night. Dean wakes up and lazily comments that it's too dangerous to drive, despite Castiel's snow tires. He could even hear the city's plows ambling ever closer to their street.

And something inside Castiel twists. Anxiety claws at him. It wants to break this small bubble of pure happiness they'd built the night before with the lights off, a fire in the fireplace, and lovemaking well after bedtime during a rare joint day off.

"You're right," Castiel muses, pulling the covers back up. "I should stay home."

Dean picks himself on his elbow, touching Castiel's face with a worried look. "You're going home?"

Ah. Castiel smiles at the miscommunication. "No," he says. "I'm staying here." He doesn't even need to ask if that's what Dean wants.

Dean kisses him and hands him his cell phone off of the nightstand charger.

Castiel dials and presses the phone to his ear. Dean slips out of the bed to use the bathroom. The phone rings three times before the floor manager picks up. Zachariah's clipped, bored tone, inadvertently makes Castiel say something that he hadn't intended. "Good morning, Mr. Adler," he says cheerfully. "This is Castiel Novak. Women's Department manager. I'm calling to say that I quit, effective immediately. Thank you." He presses end and his hands are shaking slightly.

Dean steps out of the bathroom, bare chested and his toothbrush hanging out his mouth. "'Sup, Cas?" he mumbles around the toothpaste and brush.

With a shocked look at his boyfriend, Castiel says, "I quit."

"Hey, what?"

He's laughing. He can't help it. It feels so _good_. And scary. And good. "I quit my job." He wiggles his phone in the air. "I meant to just call out for the day, but then... Mr. Adler answered and I just don't _like_ him. I don't like that job." He climbs out of the bed, tossing the cell phone on the mattress, practically throwing himself at Dean and clutching at his shoulders. He can feel himself trembling uncontrollably. 

Dean holds up a finger and rushes back to the sink to rinse his mouth. Then he's back, taking Castiel's forearms. "It's okay, Cas, calm down. Breathe. What happened?"

He shrugs and meets Dean's eyes. And... Dean looks excited. Castiel grins in return. "I quit that damn job," he crows. "I told Mr. Adler I quit. Effective immediately. I'm not going back there, Dean. I'm too happy right here, right now, to ever go work another second there."

"I fucking love you, Cas," Dean answers.

Castiel laughs. He can feel tears welling up, and it's all so very much to take in. Laughing and crying and he doesn't know what's best to do. "I love you, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for saving me."

Clutching tighter to him, Dean starts laughing, too. It fills the room. "We need to have sex right now," Dean gasps. "Celebrate. Sex. Now. Okay?"

Castiel is so totally on board. He crashes their lips together and ruts up against Dean. He's still wearing a pair of jade green boyshorts that fill out the former model's ass perfectly. Castiel takes greedy handfuls, rubbing his palms over the silky texture, feeling the flex and give of Dean's muscles under his hands, his erection growing more insistent against his hip. Firm and hard against smooth and cool. 

Dean hefts Castiel up into his arms, and Castiel wraps his legs around the man's waist, laughing harder and repeating, "don't drop me, Dean. _Don't drop me,_ " until he's safely tossed onto the bed so unceremoniously that he bounces back up, just in time for Dean to prevent his forward momentum by prowling up his body.

The thrill of never having to go back to that place makes Castiel heady, nearly euphoric. It's not long before he's stripping himself of his boxers, completely naked and thrusting up into Dean's weight above him, slow but hard. The silk against his hard flesh nearly makes him go out of his mind, and he can tell by looking that Dean is getting off on his getting off. He snaps his hips down to meet all of Castiel's movements. Then Dean is kissing him again, kneeling on either side of Castiel's hips to grind down. Rubbing it out like a couple of desperately horny teenagers is something Castiel thought he'd never experience again, but this is _Dean_ , and Dean _loves_ him. It's so beyond anything he's ever even _thought_ about wanting, that he comes with a gasp and a laugh, slicking Dean's beautiful panties, the friction change making Dean grin and moan out his own orgasm seconds later.

They're still laughing like idiots when Dean makes a face and strips off the ruined silk, yanking Castiel up to shower with him. Usually their morning routine is much more lazy and drowsy, but Dean doesn't have to go to some godforsaken shoot in summerwear in the middle of a cold snap, and Castiel doesn't have to force himself to suffer another day of a job that felt like it had been eating away at his soul. Today there's an energy. A promise. Worry, of course, but it's not as bleak as when he'd been laid off from real estate. He can panic later. Right now they have a day to themselves and Dean wants to make French toast. And they can't stop smiling and occasionally snorting with renewed laughter about it.

"You got any plans for what's next?" Dean asks, while he's turning the bread over in the pan. "I mean, not like I'm pushing or nothing, but were you like, serious about your menswear thing?"

"I'd really love to do it," Castiel confirms, pulling out the plates and silverware and then filling their coffee cups. "It's been a dream of mine."

Dean beams at him, all the affection in the world. "You're awesome, Cas."

Castiel kisses him on the cheek. "I wouldn't have had the confidence without you."

While they're eating, Dean pulls out his cell phone and scrolls through his contacts. He dials, and after a pause, he says, "hey, Sammy! Your offer for free legal advice still open? What? No! Sammy... Sam... _Sam_ , Jesus I'm not in any trouble. Will you just... yeah... okay, shut up. It's for Cas... yes. He quit his... yes, I _know_... no, he quit his job. Can you help?" There's a minute of "uh huh" and "yeah" and then Dean hangs up. "Sometimes he's more trouble than he's worth. But if you want, he said he'd open his afternoon schedule to talk game plans with you."

Quite suddenly, Castiel is blinking rapidly against a fresh set of tears. "I'd... yes, I'd be very grateful." The french toast tastes amazing.

xXx

That afternoon, Dean takes Castiel downtown to the gleaming high rise where Sam works. They're ushered through the security checkpoint, obviously having been expected, and don't even have to wait before the receptionist is guiding them back through a maze glass offices to Sam's. She announces them and Dean enters first, trying to stifle his giggling at being treated like some millionaire client, Castiel grinning closely behind.

"Hey, guys," Sam greets from behind his stylish glass and metal desk. He stands and gestures for them to sit on a dark leather sofa in front of a coffee table set up with a water pitcher, and what appear to be real crystal glasses.

"I feel like a rock star," Dean chuckles, flopping onto the sofa, ignoring the wrinkles he's getting in his only suit.

Castiel snorts, sitting more demurely, but still grinning. "Thank you for seeing us, Sam."

It only takes a minute for Sam to be infected by their good humor, too. "No worries. Seriously, this is so much better than having to post bail for Dean or something. So, what's up? Do you have a solid plan yet, or is this a brainstorming session? I'm assuming it's about starting your clothing line."

Castiel hesitates, though he appreciates Dean's encouraging hand on his knee. "I don't want to take too much of your valuable time."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You're doing me a favor. Most of the shit I'm dealing with is boring right now. But I've done a lot of business law and contract law, so I can help with whatever you might need starting up your own company. And if I can't help, I can find you someone good who can. Cheaply, of course."

"Everyone in the world owes Sammy favors," Dean says proudly.

"Almost everyone," Sam corrects. "But enough about me, how do you envision this going?"

"I always thought I'd start with small internet sales," Castiel says. "I need to design and make a lot of things on my own first, and would probably only be able to get a loan for limited manufacturing."

Sam types away on his tablet, making detailed notes. "That's not a bad idea, to test out the market. I sometimes hesitate to suggest this, but have you thought about crowdfunding or donations?"

"I'd like to avoid that, if possible," Castiel admits. 

Sam arches an eyebrow. "Too big a market?"

"Too small."

Sam sets his tablet down on his knee, focused completely on Castiel. "Oh?"

Time to come clean, he supposes. He glances at Dean, and the man is expressionless, though when he looks over, he shrugs and inclines his head towards Sam in a clear go ahead. "Um, it would be a niche market," he says carefully. "Honestly, I want to design lingerie for men." He waits a beat, but Sam says nothing, so he rushes on. "I can understand if this really isn't something you're comfortable with-"

"That's great!" Sam butts in, enthusiastic. Castiel looks up, surprised. Then again, he's not sure why he expected anything less of the Winchester men. They've both been nothing but non-judgmental and fully supportive of everything those they care about have done. It's definitely new and wonderful. Sam is practically flailing. "There's _totally_ got to be a market for that sort of thing!" He swipes around on his tablet for a minute. "Yeah, for sure. I don't pull up a whole lot of stuff in a general search, so you'll have a good corner on the market. Especially if you decide to go more mid-priced. Everything I've seen on the first few pages is pretty high priced."

"Told you he'd be like this," Dean murmurs to Castiel.

Sam puts the tablet down again. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. "It's a good idea. It really is. I like good ideas. But, you're right. Do you have a business plan or anything?"

"I do," Castiel confirms. "Well, it's old, so I'll probably need to rework many of the details, but it's something I've thought about a lot over the years. For various kinds of clothing." He pulls out his phone and opens his Google Drive. "I'll send you the most updated file. It's for suits and things, but you'll get the idea. The premise is the same. What's your email address?"

Sam gives it to him and Castiel sends him the files. "I'll take a look at this and give you any notes I come up with. You want suggestions for improvements, or just the bare bones?"

"Anything you're willing to help with," Castiel says as non-noncommittally as possible.

Dean groans. "Don't tell him that or he'll go overboard."

"Have a little faith," Sam says, already reading over the file. "Besides, this is pretty good already."

"Thank you," Castiel smiles.

"Let's go over some now and then the rest maybe at dinner this weekend?"

"I'm free on Saturday," Dean confirms.

"I'm free until otherwise noted," Castiel says.

They talk for another hour. By the end of it, Castiel's head is spinning, but he's more pleased than ever. Dean walks out with him arm and arm and they're both beaming the whole way back to the house. They arrive just as fresh snow starts to fall.

Inside the door, Castiel swings around and kisses Dean. "I lost my job and this is the best day of my life. Thank you, Dean. For everything. For being here."

"Love 'ya, Cas."

He kisses the miracle worker again. "Love you, too."


	11. Perfect Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **!!!!FINAL CHAPTER!!!! NSFW!** Castiel's business gets off the ground. He and Dean find a way to work around each other.

Castiel probably handles the separation better than Dean, at least on the outside. Every time he sends a text where Castiel laments not being able to meet again for several days because of his new 24/7 business planning and development, there are small things. Presents, really. Castiel thinks they are. But they're mostly texts and pictures. All the time. At every hour of the day and night. Pictures of the cat. Pictures of himself. Pictures from his shoots. Castiel becomes Dean's own personal Instagram account. He doesn't really mind. They're trying to stay connected even when it's impossible to match their time together. Castiel sends constant updates about the sales numbers. Pictures of Charlie piecing together fabric cuts with a look of deep concentration on her face. Benny modeling the new staff uniform; blue polo shirts stamped with Dr. Sexy's logo, Castiel squinting at his computer when he crashes Quickbooks. Again.

He's fairly certain that Sam's actually the one who instigates the "day in the life of" texting, anyway. They're having a lunch meeting to finalize some initial legal paperwork for Castiel to file as a business, and Sam's cell phone keeps buzzing on the table between them. Every time he picks it up to look at it, he scowls.

"You can certainly answer it if you need to," Castiel says, reading the filing requirements for the third time just to be sure.

"It's Dean," Sam says. "He's complaining that I get to see you more than he does."

"That's almost true," Castiel says mildly.

Sam chuckles. "He's such a big baby." But he holds his phone up and texts Dean back. Castiel doesn't find out until later that the younger Winchester had snapped a candid picture of him lounged back in the overstuffed leather chair in his crisp business suit, a stack of papers resting on his thighs, and written, _be proud your man is hard at work._ "Anyway," he continues, "I think your plan to start local with a boutique and custom orders is best. You'll have more time to build up sales and hire e-commerce people when the money's there."

"I agree. Plus, I just like the idea of having an actual store front. I'd never get a break if I started with online only orders. That's a true 24/7 job. Dean would dump me."

Sam grins. "He'd wait forever for you."

No matter how true, or not, Castiel finds that, he's grateful to hear Sam say it. "I don't want to test the theory, anyway."

"Then let's get this done and filed. Lunch is on me. Jess has started making double portions for leftovers because you're here all the time."

Castiel laughs. He glances up from the documents. "You know I'm sorry for giving you all of this extra work, too."

"I actually like it," Sam replies, swiping around on his tablet. "Maybe I should consider a track change. It's nice being on retainer for you. You don't know how many times you've saved me from being bored into an arbitration coma."

The honesty in Sam's voice makes Castiel feel a thousand times better about only being able to pay him half of what he earns being bored into comas with other clients. "Happy to help."

xXx

Months of the same song and dance until one day in late August, Castiel is standing in the middle of Dean's living room, holding a wooden sign out like the proudest parent in the world.

"Doctor Sexy's?" Dean asks.

"Is the font too weird?" Castiel frets.

"No," Dean says like he's choking on his own saliva.

Castiel wilts. "The graphic designer recommended bold and simple. Maybe she was wrong."

Dean stands up and puts his hands on Castiel's arms before he can second guess himself into a real funk. "The sign looks amazing. I just never expected that when you said your store name was a surprise for me, it would be _this_."

"You watch the show religiously. You said your one free pass to have sex with someone other than me was the actor who plays Doctor-"

"I know that!" Dean insists, turning slightly red. "It's just... this is awesome, Cas. It's actually really clever. And no one's ever named anything in my honor before. It isn't copyright infringement?"

"No," Castiel says, perking back up. "Sam consulted several of his colleagues and even contacted the show's lawyers. It's perfectly fine."

Dean pats Castiel's arms, beaming at him like he hung the moon. "You're fucking incredible, Cas."

xXx

Doctor Sexy's opens with a party in the gleaming tiled entrance. It's amazing. The store is amazing. It's small; tucked into the historic center of the town between a used bookstore and a community credit union. Castiel had wanted to rent more cheaply outside of the town, but Sam had insisted, helped with securing his loan, and Castiel now knows that the younger Winchester was totally right. The glass storefront is sparkling, the blue and green canopy is brand new and bright, and the wooden sign is demure and professional. Inside, the lights are warm rather than fluorescent, the checkout counter orderly, and the racks and mannequins neatly arranged with a selection of Castiel's designs, both everyday wear, and more daring.

People come and go all day, perusing the merchandise while holding catered finger sandwiches. It's actually surprising when Castiel smiles and shakes dozens of hands and schedules a handful of private fittings for custom orders. He's flabbergasted by it until Sam reminds him of the thriving alternative community about thirty minutes from there. Castiel feels as though he's doing something quite important with his life when he explains to potential customers about how the garments are designed specifically with men's needs in mind, and the importance of finding the proper fit. 

Dean is there the whole time, sometimes with his arm around Castiel to introduce him to a patron, or flashing his flirty model smile around to drum up more business and make the opening day a rousing success. It makes Castiel ache with love for the man, and also wish he could have hired him to do the sales. They'd make a mint.

Even Sam and Jess invest themselves brilliantly by blatantly lying about having known Castiel and his talent for _ages_. Also stretching the truth when they enthuse that they also know "people" who already wear his designs, and those "people" have said that nothing makes them feel sexier and more confident than wearing a Novak original. That had been true, but Castiel's sure Dean never actually said that to his _brother_.

It's perfect. The pride and contentment swells in Castiel until it's almost overwhelming.

The numbers are tight, though. It's a long time before Castiel doesn't sit up until late at night tugging at his messy hair over the numbers. Word of mouth will get around, it just takes time , and he knows that the two people he's hired to help him run the store and tailor garments are going to make his business profitable eventually. Charlie is a jack of all trades and works for about 300% less than she should be making with her skills. Even though they're not ready to produce enough for an internet business, she designed and runs the website and all the social media accounts. Plus, her knowledge of cosplay goes a long way in helping Castiel sew when needed. Benny is a gift of sales and undaunting handshakes. Dean had been there when Castiel had been interviewing for a salesperson. Castiel had asked him to be there to help select a candidate who would put prospective customers at ease. He'd know better than anyone about that. And after the friendly Southern man had left, Dean had sat back thoughtfully and said, "something about that guy. He could sell me the shirt I'm already wearing."

"Same," Castiel had said, somewhat dazed. Castiel didn't bother much with interviews after that. Benny's calming personality and ready friendly smile would certainly get those sales numbers up.

But even with superior help, Castiel still works all hours of the day and night to make things happen. Make ends meet. It will all calm down eventually, is his mantra. Until then, he accepts coffee and sympathetic kisses on the back of the neck from Dean as he tirelessly balances the accounts.

It's also hard to meet up with Dean as often as they'd been accustomed to. Most nights Castiel can barely keep his eyes open long enough to brush his teeth before collapsing onto the bed and getting what feels like ten minutes of sleep before having to get up and live his dream all over again.

It's difficult. Trying. Busy. Tiring. Castiel is happier than he's ever been. He also misses Dean terribly. There are more texts, and photos, and the occasional night together that usually ends in shop talk.

Dean takes it all in stride. Never says anything about it, but he takes pains to hang out at the store whenever he can. Benny quips that having another pretty face around always boosts sales. Charlie adores cornering Dean to talk sci-fi and the glories of LARPing when it's slow. The day-to-day begins to even out.

The weather is starting to cool down again when Charlie and Benny and Castiel have figured out their routine enough to work as well-oiled machine six days a week, rotating days off, except for Castiel. Benny is the one who pickpockets Castiel and relieves him of his shop keys. Charlie is the one who locks the front door and demands, through the meticulously clean glass, that Castiel is to take two days off _or else_. Or else what, Castiel is too grateful to find out. He spends the entire weekend with Dean in bliss and sex, _so much sex_ , promising to work better hours and trust his employees more. Dean's smiles are a lot more bountiful and genuine after that.

In fact, Dean stops locking his front door to his house when he arrives home in the hopes of Castiel showing up. And he does show up regularly, stripping out of his clothes on the way to the bedroom, and always finding Dean warm and sleepy, turning towards him, curled on their sides once settled.

"Dean," Castiel murmurs against his boyfriend's collarbone. "That feels like one of mine."

Dean gropes for Castiel's hand under the covers and drags it over the jut of his hip, back and over to his ass. Fine imported lace and silk. Castiel knows the cut and hem and even the color. Maroon and black. He'd spent a long time designing this particular semi-transparent bikini cut. It's the flagship of his seduction collection. He runs his fingers over it, pulling the covers back just enough to see how it rests against Dean's body. It makes them both hard.

"I like this one," Dean smiles, rolling his hips forward into Castiel's hands.

"I might have made it with you in mind," Castiel answers. Might have nothing. It's probably not the best sales tactic in the world, but Castiel makes _everything_ with Dean in mind. There's a reason he hasn't - _can't_ \- ask Dean to be the model for his everyday wear line. Being in a constant state of unprofessional arousal would be bad for business.

He's so tired and so horny. It's always a strange mix. But Dean is too, because they grind together lazily with hands on dicks and lips on skin. They've both fallen asleep in the middle from time to time, and this is one of the times that Castiel wonders if it's going to be him. But it's not. And not Dean either. Dean's dick is warm and silky in his fist as he jerks him off in time with Dean's movements on him. He can feel the lace scraping against the back of his hand and it's such a lovely, indulgent sensation when added to the breathy moans of pleasure his touch elicits on Dean. It's nearly hypnotizing, and Castiel closes his eyes to drink in every last urgent thrust, all of the sounds and quiet curses, the pleading, "faster, baby, just... right there, oh, God-"

Dean comes with a jerk of his hips and a hot gasp against Castiel's mouth. And instead of going boneless and giving in to the afterglow, it renews his energy for a minute and he rolls on top of Castiel, removing his hand and thrusting his lace-trapped, spent wet length against Castiel's. Castiel arches his neck and lets himself float on the feeling of Dean's weight and warmth. "Ah, _Dean_ ," he moans quietly, coming undone as his orgasm jolts every nerve ending in his body moments later.

Dean uses his shirt to clean them up carelessly and then tosses it to the floor. Then he's gathering Castiel up in his arms and turning him so that Dean is the little spoon. Castiel falls asleep shortly after, feeling Dean's steady heartbeat under his palm and the lacy panties against his thighs.

xXx

As the days and weeks move on, Castiel spends more time at Dean's than his own apartment. On a practical level, the store is closer to Dean's house than his apartment. But on a more selfish level, he recognizes that his apartment is rapidly becoming the place outside of the shop's back craft room to store his supplies for him to work on in peace when he needs to. Needing time to himself becomes more and more rare. Especially after one of his sewing machines just _happens_ to take over the kitchen table that they never use at Dean's. Meals are eaten in the breakfast nook or on the couch when they're both pretending to have the energy to catch up on the shows they've recorded on the DVR.

Dean is almost always home first, except when he has to travel out of town for a shoot. Castiel feels bad about that mostly because Dean's said he doesn't much enjoy cooking, but still always has a healthy dinner waiting after he discovers Castiel's penchant for getting engrossed in his designing enough that he forgets to be hungry. 

Tonight Castiel can fix that, though. He has plans to make the first pot of chili of the fall since Dean isn't going to be back until well after midnight since he refuses to fly no matter the travel distance, much to the annoyance of his agent, who refuses to let Dean drive the gas-guzzling Impala long distance, and instead carts them around in her own fuel-efficient Honda. Benny is scheduled to close the shop and sends Castiel on his way exactly at four o'clock. It takes time to make the perfect chili, after all.

On his way to his car, Castiel pulls out his cell phone and sees a text from Dean sent just five minutes before.

**Dean:** can u grab mail when u get there? expecting important letter.  
 **Me:** Yes, of course. I'll try to wait up for you.  
 **Dean:** ok. ilu

Dutifully, Castiel stops at the bottom of the driveway when he arrives, and leans out the window to open the mailbox. There's a single brown packing envelope in there. And it's not addressed to Dean. In fact, it's his handwriting on it that simply reads, _For Cas_.

Curious, he opens it and tips a small gray box and piece of printer paper into his hand. He turns it over in his palm. It's a... garage door opener? He sets it on the seat next to him and unfolds the paper. It says, _room for two now_. Castiel points the remote towards the garage and presses the button. The door raises. Dean has cleaned out the entire side of the garage for him. When did he even find the time? Castiel pulls in and shuts off the engine. Hooks the remote to the sun shade. Steps out of the car. It's strange parking right next to the prized Impala. 

He lowers the garage door and walks to the kitchen access door. There's another note taped at eye level. It reads, _welcome home?_ and an arrow pointing down. Castiel glances down. There's a key already in the lock with a blue plastic keychain dangling from it. He tips it up with a finger and it's labeled, _Cas's key_.

A lump forms in his throat as he turns the key. A small push and the door swings open.

Dean is standing against in front of the shoe rack holding up another sheet of printer paper. In bold block letters he has written, _PLEASE MOVE IN WITH ME Y/N?_ With hearts all around it.

Castiel holds out his hand and gestures for Dean to hand him the paper. He does and Castiel digs in his jacket pocket for his pen. With Dean watching him unblinking the entire time, Castiel clicks the cap, carefully circles his selection, and offers the paper back to Dean.

Green eyes flick down, then back up. He grins and tosses the paper aside, opening his arms wide.

Castiel steps into them and squeezes Dean into the tightest hug that he can.

"Don't wanna have any more long days and nights without seeing you," Dean murmurs against Castiel's temple. "I don't like it when you're not here, Cas."

"It's all just... better with you," Castiel says to the side of Dean's neck. "I want to share everything with you, Dean."

"Then let's do that," Dean says. 

"I'm officially the luckiest man alive because of you, Dean Winchester."

Dean pulls back and takes Castiel's face in his hands, squishing his cheeks affectionately until he's nearly making fish lips. "Sorry, but that's me, Castiel Novak." He loosens his grip and Castiel turns his face a little to kiss Dean's palm. "You caught me shoplifting stupid Santa panties, and then took a chance to help me with something about myself that I didn't even know how to approach. That being the case, I'm the luckiest."

"I'll argue with you about that for a very long time," Castiel says seriously. "Maybe forever."

Dean loops his arms around Castiel's shoulders, draping them casually. "Hey, you promise?"

Castiel grins, throwing caution to the wind. Knowing it's safe to do so with the man holding him. "I do."

"Like I said," Dean grins back. "Luckiest guy. Right here. Now, come on inside. We got furniture to rearrange."

Castiel follows Dean into the main room, holding his hand loosely. Welcomed home. Warm. Happier than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all the wrote, everyone! Thank you so much for reading this silly little piece of fluff! All of your comments and kudos have meant the world to me and kept me producing more of it than I thought I would. You're all so wonderful, and I hope you enjoyed 11 whole chapters of complete and total lack of angst!

**Author's Note:**

> There was no excuse for this. Shame on me.


End file.
